


Stardust

by rieunn



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Reality, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Good Lotor (Voltron), Homesick Lance (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, I Promise He's Not A Jerk, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance/Lotor Endgame, M/M, Might shift that to Shiro/Keith (Voltron), Minor Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Not Canon Compliant, Not really sure about that, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Screw all those stories where Lance/Lotor is one-sided or abusive man, Season 6 Didn't Happen Yeet, Slow Build, Tags May Change, There might be some gaps, and there's no draft or save feature, because I'm editing using ao3, conflicted morals, currently editing and revising, so bear with me lol, where basically nothing makes sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-02-11 17:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12939837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rieunn/pseuds/rieunn
Summary: Lance is beginning to feel more and more alone and isolated by his team, and although he knows it's probably just stress and exhaustion from all of the battles they've had to fight lately, he can't bring himself to ignore the hurtful comments and criticism, even if he knows they hold some truth. When a Galra fleet attacks the Castle out of nowhere and Voltron must be formed, will Lance be able to hold out for his team?





	1. To Be Or Not To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author notes:  
> \- For the sake of this fanfic, Lotor is a good, trustworthy man who would never go power hungry and kill off a whole bunch of people of an innocent race for quintessence hahahahaha God season 6 killed me I am deceased.
> 
> \- Stardust takes place outside of any canon timelines, wherein Shiro hasn't gone missing and Keith hasn't discovered his Galra heritage, but plans to overthrow the Galra empire still proceed. There's very little time for team bonding and the Paladins aren't too knowledgeable about anyone else's backgrounds aside from those directly stated.
> 
> \- In this timeline, from the very start Zarkon has been using his "bond" with the Black Lion to chase Voltron around the galaxies.
> 
> \- Lance might be just a little out of character and will be somewhat of an unreliable narrator.
> 
> \- This story will mostly cover romantic/platonic Lancelot with very little - if any - sexual content, and I'll be focusing mostly on character development in personalities, relationships, and perspectives.
> 
> \- I'm not all too familiar with Galra vocabulary, much less space vocabulary in general, so you might have to cringe and bear with me on some setting and circumstantial details and descriptions.
> 
> \- Happy reading!

  Out in space, you'd think it's beautiful.

  You'd think that the galaxies would swirl in tandem, a flurry of stars, rich purples and deep blues. Asteroids, comets, and meteors should be even more fantastic up close, right? Maybe at one time, I had naively stared out in awe at the sky, back on Earth, and marveled at the beauty I thought I saw. Space is just an empty void of nothingness to me now, despite the fact that I finally get to see it, up close and personal. Filled with useless rocks and wasted potential.

  Well, maybe the rocks aren't always useless.

  Maybe the only real wasted potential is mine.

  In my time of being a Paladin, I've realized two things, among many. The first? That defending the universe seems to require not only intense combat skill… but also social talent. There's actually a lotof socializing involved in being a Paladin.

 ' _Diplomatic relations with other alien species must be maintained, in order to obtain the necessary assistance and resources in our quest against the Galra empire."_ That's what I remember Allura saying before. It was during the briefing before a diplomatic mission where we traveled to visit an alien race - the Qwadzuzilians, as they dubbed themselves - on their soft planet, with the even longer name that I can't remember. Of course, she and Shiro were the main representatives for the team and did most of the smooth-talking so, I guess socializing didn't really apply to my duty as a Paladin that time. Now, though, that Voltron is relatively renowned and more and more pods of rebellion are showing up and offering us their help, we all have to do our fair share of negotiating and mingling. Regardless, as a Paladin of Voltron, there's always something to do - and, usually, that something is difficult. Which, of course, means little to no private time, since we're always either training, planning, or eating food goo to replenish our energy. Barely even a dobash goes by, sometimes, before the Castle's alarm is blaring (it's really obnoxious, by the way, especially when you're trying to catch some shuteye) again and we're called off to serve our "greater purpose". I haven't even actually been able to keep up with my appearance lately; there's no time for beauty sleep, and _definitely_ none for skin care... though, I suppose that doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. I'm getting off topic, though. 

  The second thing I've realized is that I'm not quite as much of a social butterfly as I remember myself being on Earth. Either that or I just… lost my wings, I guess? I mean, I like to think I was pretty extraverted; I've never considered myself an introvert. More often than not, I speak my mind without even thinking once, let alone twice. Just... lately, I've felt so isolated. It's something I've wondered about a lot lately: was I always subconsciously like this and am only just now realizing it? Is this because the amount of people I have to talk to has decreased? Or - the option that has held captive most of my attention - maybe…maybe it's not really anything on my part?

  I've been wondering... if maybe, no one really wants to talk to me at all, and I'm just dealing with the consequences of that.

I guess that's not really all that surprising, although I shouldn't be thinking that it is. Unfortunately for me, this topic tends to dominate my train of thought in varga like these, when we get some precious, precious time away from the stress and excitement of protecting the universe. I mean, I have pretty much no other choice but to sit here, by this ominous window, and stare out into the nothingness, since when I try to catch up with someone - _anyone_ , in my desperation for interaction - it's all to no avail.

 

* * *

 

   "I'm _sorry_ , Lance, I'm just... really tired. I think it'd be best if I got some rest. Oh, but that goes for you too, of course," Shiro pauses to glance around the room, "and everyone else. After all, who knows when we'll get time like this to rest again?"  His normally firm, soothing voice weighs on me, less supportive and encouraging than I remember it being. I feel myself wilt. Maybe I'm looking too far into his words, but this is, what, the third time this movement he's said something like that? Who knows how many times in this whole past pheob. The point is, honestly, I should seen this coming a mile away. But, as always, it has a way of sucker-punching me in the gut. Maybe it's because I used to idolize him. I try not to let it show and just grin, backing away from Shiro.

  "Yeah, I see what you mean, and you're totally right. Well, uh, what about-"

  "Uh, yeah, I'm with Shiro," I glance over at Hunk, suprised - he isn't really meeting my eyes, and, to be honest, I'm not all too sure what that could mean. "Like, it'd be cool and all to hang out and stuff but, to be honest, I haven't baked in, like? Literally _ages_. So, I think I'm maybe, possibly, probably just gonna go do that for a while." I smile again, despite the hollow stinging in my chest. I hadn't even asked him if he wanted to hang out yet, so why did he say all that?

  "Sure, buddy, that's fine! If you want, though, I could-"

  "Hey, wait, Hunk! Lemme' go grab my computer and keep you some company." 

_Is anyone even listening to me?_

_Why am I the only one getting cut off?_  

  It's not like we're all talking over one another. Maybe… maybe they're just too tired to notice. It's been a pretty long while since any of us has gotten any substantial sleep, so, it's... it's understandable. Right?

  "Oh, that sounds cool, let me-" I try to include myself one last time, desperately hanging onto this last thread of hope, since I haven't hung out with either of them since we started forming Voltron - but another voice cuts mine off. 

 _Again_.

  "Ah, Hunk, Pidge, I shall also be accompanying you! Just for safety reasons, because last time you made something in the Castle's kitchen, you nearly put the _incanine_ in with the _frenvyters_ \- and that could have been a very dangerous, lethal situation! We wouldn't want to lose either of you to such a…" Coran's bubbly voice disappears along with everyone else's - Keith has stalked off (as usual) to God knows where, and Allura disappeared with Shiro, wherever he went (again, as usual).

  "..."

  With no one around to see me and nothing left to say, I can let my face fall. I place my hand over my chest and frown.

 

* * *

  

  I _really_ don't know why it's so disappointing to me; again, it's not like it's the first time something like this has happened. And after being ignored so obviously, it's not exactly like I'm eager to seek anyone out for round two of "let's pretend Lance isn't talking". It's been a while, anyways, since I've been able to just have a moment to think and be alone with myself.

  So, here I am, contemplating the disappointing truth about space and putting myself down, aaall where no one can be witness to it. Ironic, isn't it? The guy who's always so painfully flashy is the one who feels like he can't even be himself in front his friends. The clown is sad.

  What?

  Were you expecting something else? Confidence, maybe? Obliviousness? Yeah, I kinda stopped fooling myself with those facades a long time ago - ah, but that doesn't mean that I stopped fooling everyone else with them. At least, judging from everyone's reactions earlier, I'd like to assume so, but, then again assumptions don't get anyone very far. I mean, for example, even after all of this time of being ignored and treated like my opinions don't matter, I still want to belong to them. To someone. I want to keep calling them family. That's how much they mean to me. But what could I possibly mean to them?

  On Earth I didn't really have any problems; my family was pretty much always supportive, in their own rowdy way, and my friends thought I was awesome and endearing. I didn't even dream of doubting that, since blood is supposed to be thicker than water anyway and I had known my friends practically since I was out of mamá's womb. I wasn't a straight A student, but I was pretty well off, academically, and my teachers praised me for fast-paced growth and improvement.

  When I joined the Garrison and tried chasing my dreams like so many others do... that was it, for me. Suddenly, teachers' faces only held frowns when they looked at me… and the friends I hadn't had problems making seemed like they were lightyears away (now both literally _and_ metaphorically, since I've joined the Paladins of Voltron, far out in space).

  I should have expected failure, really. I was never actually skilled enough to make it into that school, anyways, and I knew that from the first step I'd taken onto campus. Sad thing is, my family had scrounged up every last cent to get me in - just for me to almost flunk out. It was no big surprise that I became a disappointment. To _literally_ everyone in my home town. Good thing they don't have to deal with me anymore. _I_ definitely wouldn't want to. And, even _if_ they did... I just don't think I could face them now. Even while being involved in a big, important cause, I'm still mediocre at best. I just... want someone to acknowledge me, for once. Even if I don't exactly deserve it. I want to be special and unique. I want someone to look at me and think 'wow, Lance is crazy good at what he does, I admire him.'

  Forcing myself to become so unnaturally confident was, like… a way to hide that, I guess. A way to hide the fact that I'm pretty much a useless nobody and that I hate myself for even trying to push my luck.

  I became Lance the Flirt.

Lance the Stupid.

Lance the Joke _._

  All to hide the fact that I had become _Lance the Failure._

  I watched the faces of everyone around me either turn sour or twist in shallow and mocking amusement. I grin wryly and clench my fist, eyeing my reflection on the glass in front of me. I don't think anyone is more upset with me than, well, me. I mean, there was nothing super great about me to begin with. I have basic skills, sure, but I'm just a jack of all trades. I'm no sharpshooter - at least, not to anyone but myself, apparently. I'm practically worthless compared to my teammates who each excel in their own way. I'm a disgrace to my whole family and all of my old friends. I'll even let you in on a little secret; I never actually did understand why Blue chose me to be her Paladin, out of everyone else, that fateful day. Or even why Voltron has to include me at all - the Universe deserves _so_ much better, _believe_ me.

  Though, I guess, it's not like there's any shortage of people who also realize that. They've made that very clear. The grin fades from my mouth, and I can feel myself falling deeper into a somber melancholy.

  I sigh quietly and look past the glass. My room has settled with solemn understanding of the secrets I've revealed to its air today. 

 _'It's crazy,'_ I think, as I draw my knees up to my chest,  _'to think that I once thought space would be so beautiful... but now that I'm here, all I can see is darkness.'_

 

* * *

 

  The Castle alarm blares, snapping me into awareness, "Yes! I'm awak- ouch," where I realize that I didn't _just_ fall asleep - I fell asleep in a _horribly_ uncomfortable position.

  Ugh, I'm sore as hell.

  " _Fuck_ ," I murmur, head pounding, my neck and right arm aching as I stumble to my feet from the floor. I stretch and yawn and then I pause a little. 

 _Wait a second_. 

  How did I even manage ending up on the floor? I scratch my head in puzzlement and with quirked brows can only think that I must have fallen off the wide ledge by the window, because I definitely don't remember deciding to camp out there. Why am I not surprised? More than that, how many varga have passed? I feel like I only got maybe one or two of sleep, though I guess I'm lucky I was even able to get that, given how crazy things have been, lately. 

  My eyes feel heavy again at that thought, and my body droops with exhaustion.

 _Sleep_...

  A varga or two clearly didn't do me any good. I take a few groggy, slow steps towards the doors of my room, which slide open at my approach with ease. It takes me all I have to drag myself down the hazy, darkened corridor, only lit up every other second by bright red flashing lights (which is in _no_ way helping my headache).

  ...

   _Wait._

 **** _Shit!_

  The  _alarm_ is blaring! My eyes widen, I blanch, and cold sweat immediately starts beading around my temples. The urgency pushed into my head by both myself and Blue allows me to move a bit faster and ease myself into a jog, but I'm still _way_ out of it by the time I get to the bridge - and, apparently, late. Allura is giving me The Look™. And by that, I don't mean the "Oh my God, Lance, I'm in love with you! Please, sweep me off of my pretty Altean feet!" kind of look (although that would be hella nice). She grumbles something under her breath and looks like she's about to tell me off, eyebrows drawn, but she clearly decides it's not worth it from the way she huffs. She instead shifts her position so that she's facing all of the Paladins, arms akimbo.

  "Alright, listen up, everyone! There's really no time for dillydallying, so I'll be brief; one of Zarkon's main fleets has been detected by the Castle's radar again. We need you out there and forming Voltron in as little a time slice as possible. Coran and I shall do everything we can from here to support you until we can make a full-fledged retreat, but for now you will have to do your best to stay strong out there. Please, hurry to your lions at once! _"_   The Princess's voice is firm, fast and authoritative, as usual. I find myself reveling in admiration for her natural ability to be the successful and inspiring leader I could only ever dream of being. My musings are interrupted, however, by either self-deception or the truth, both of the lines of which have long since been blurred together.

  "Lance, get it together, get your head out of the clouds. Let's go." Shiro's voice sounds strained. I rub the back of my neck guiltily and shoot him a small grin.

  "Uh, okay. Sorry," I mumble, and he turns away from me immediately.

  The scowls and looks of frustration thrown my way by my companions as we - well, _they_ , since I decided it'd be a bright idea to sleep in my armor - gear up make me feel awfully self-conscious, but I'm able to conjure up another of my signature fake grins from somewhere. As soon as everyone is all equipped and ready for what is sure to be an intense battle, we're all running to get to our lions, eager to dispatch and receive further orders from either Shiro or Allura.

  As I race to get to Blue, I catch myself thinking that I wish it was self-deception.

  I wish my eyes were deceiving me.

  It's been so long since I've felt the warmth of a genuine smile from anyone on this small team, and it's... it's really starting to tear me apart. I know it's not a priority, and I know everyone is stressed right now, what with all of the battles and missions we've had lately. I know they are, but... I _live_ for them.

  I've been trying so hard to brighten these gloomy days, even as some sort of half-assed clown, pretending to have no idea what the hell I'm doing or talking about half of the time. Apparently, I can't even do that anymore, since nothing seems to be enough. It's not making them happy.

  I can't make anyone happy.

  I couldn't even do it when I wasn't so mentally and emotionally disoriented.

  I heave a shaky sigh, screwing my eyes shut as I come to a panting stop beside the pilot's seat inside Blue, laying one hand on the padded back.  

  As much as I wish, sometimes, that my bond with Blue would allow her to, somehow, read my thoughts and feelings so that she could sense what's wrong with me, our connection doesn't exactly work like that. She _can_ , however, sense my general condition and adapt to it, which is why when I plunge myself into my chair and close my eyes, I think I feel a little more comfortable. Relief floods into my chest, and a warm and swelling feeling, accompanied by little, bright visions of the past.

  Eyes as blue as the ocean near our house back home. A smile as warm as mamá's, but somehow… different.

  In fact, everything about this person is different. Warm, loving and kind. The vision brings me to the cusp of clarity a few times, only to retreat back into blurriness. It doesn't feel like mamá at all, but she's the only comparison I really have. Maybe it _is_ her, though; time distorts everything, and it's been a while since I've seen or interacted with her, anyways. I feel the corners of my mouth twitch up, despite myself, feeling grateful to my Lion for the sudden tranquility. Blue is probably the only being who cares about me at this point.

  Though, even that connection could be superficial. Obligatory.

I try not to think about that.

  Static comes in on Blue's comm system and I press a button on my dash so that I can hear the transmission. I don't have time to even mutter a greeting before an impatient voice crackles, "Lance, I didn't want to mention this earlier in front of everyone-"

  "Yes?" I answer responsively. All I hear in return is an annoyed groan.

  " _Don't_ interrupt me. Listen to me for once, okay? I need you to start taking things more seriously and stop joking around. You're _always_ the last one to the control center, Lance. I understand that you might be trying to be light-hearted or funny or... something. And I do appreciate that - but this... this is _not_ a joke."

  "I-" 

  "The _whole damn Universe_ is at stake, Lance!" Allura's voice is even more angry and commanding than I've ever heard it before, and it forces my throat dry, leaving my protests silenced. "I don't want everyone else's serious efforts to be ruined just because you wanted to lighten the mood a little!"

  ...

  As... much as I hate to admit it, she's right.

  At least, somewhat. Of course, there are times where I really _do_ want to lighten the mood - and,  _yeah_ , I  _am_ the weakest link. But that - my being late just now -  _definitely_ had nothing to do with either of those things, as far as I'm concerned. That was just exhaustion.

  I mean, how many varga of sleep have _any_ of us gotten in the last forty-eight or so? I wouldn't blame anyone else for being just as dead-tired and out of it as I am, if I were her. In fact, if I were her, I'd be more worried about everyone's physical conditions going into a fight. Besides, I showed up, even if I was a little behind?  _And_ I was already geared up and ready to go, so technically, it didn't even matter that I was a bit late because I didn't have to get ready!

  I don't know. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

  Maybe another reason I want to try and defend myself is that Allura is just… a bit more special than everyone else. And not _just_ because she's a pretty alien lady. I... I value everyone on the team pretty equally, but... there's just something about her, I guess. Regardless of any rationality I try to throw at it, my heart wants to ask for a bit more appreciation from her.

  "With all due respect, Princess," I begin, a bit dryly, "I wasn't actually trying to-"

  _"Lance!"_ Her sharp voice makes me flinch and stall, "Save it, for once! We don't have _time_ for you to talk my ear off like you always do. Your team needs you right now. They need you to focus and _make an actual contribution for once."_

_..._

Ouch.

That... stings.

  _Probably, because she's right._

  My heart throbs as the transmission cuts out and, not for the first time, I find myself suddenly feeling very, very empty.

  And that's excluding the exhaustion factor.

  This time, however, I don't have time to rest.

 

* * *

 

  "Uh, Lance, buddy, that sonic-boom-thingy _might_ have totally been nice just now, y'know? Or, maybe, y'know some other kind of _support?_   Just a thought!"

  "Lance, no, no, no, stop! You _idiot_ , are you _trying_  to get us all _killed?!"_

**_"Lance, what are you doing?!"_ **

  Fighter jet after fighter jet…

  God, is there _no end?_

  I don't know how many varga its been - hell, a _whole quintant_ could have passed by since we formed Voltron. Either way, I can already feel my connection with Blue slipping, the panic bubbling up from my stomach and into my throat. This isn't good, but I'm not sure how to fix it. I'm not sure if it's her deciding to abandon all hope in me because she realizes now how much of a screw up I _really_ am, or if it's just the exhaustion finally getting to me.

Hell, maybe it's both.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as a bright flash of light blinds them.

  I open them again.

  Beads of sweat form in the place of the ones that have just rolled down my skin.

  It's laborious to even keep my eyes open at this point, and I can hear so many voices telling me to get my shit together... but is it even possible for me to do that at this point? I've just... lost so much hope and been so worn out lately... and, although I know I should hold on for just a little longer, my eyes are getting so, so heavy.

  There's thunder - I _swear_ there is, even though I know we're out in the middle of space and there's _no possible way_ there could be any kind of precipitation - _God_ , I _swear_ there's thunder.

  It shakes Blue and I to our core, and as I lose her for a split second, I fall back into my youth.

_Warm, fluffy, homemade empanadas._

_Running with Nina through the dew-ridden meadows near the house, early on a Summer morning._

_Christmas when papá was still on good terms with mamá and abuela and the family still had money to spend on presents._

_Aunt Elena sneaking me little toy spaceships from her husband's little town corner store._

_The view of the stars from my bedroom window._

 

  I swallow hard.

_I want to go home._

  I want to go home and curl up in mamá's lap and feel her fingers curl through my hair.

  I want to go home and feel the rain on my face and beneath my feet and between my toes and have my clothes be so _soaked_ with it that they're practically glued to my skin.

  I want to hear mamá's laugh as I complain about having to peel it all off before coming back inside to get warm. I want to see my cousins, I want to see Nina and Miguelito and Anjelina and Matías and Mariana… 

 _God,_ I want to go _home_.

  For just that fraction of a second, I can _feel_ the rain and warmth, and I can _hear_ and _see_ everything…

  And then it's over.

  And I feel my own loss and yearning.

  And I feel Blue's panic, that there _is_ no thunder, only the force of a blast that has shaken Voltron's entire being. 

  I feel _reality,_ but _fuck,_ I'm _so tired_. I'm not _good enough_ for this shit. I'm trying so, so hard to stop the thoughts, but I _can't_ , I just _can't_  anymore.

  _I was never worthy, and I never will be._

  My hands tremble.

  _I'm only Lance, a jack of all trades, replaceable and insignificant, and boring._

 My skin feels cold.

   _Why did I ever think I mattered to anyone, that anything I did was important to anyone here?_

  My eyes brim.

  _Why did I ever think I could make a difference?_

  My chest is heaving.

  _Why did I ever think I was special?_

  The lump in my constricted throat won't leave.

  _Why did I ever decide to jump on that stupid hovercraft with everyone?_

I regret everything.

 

**_I don't want to cry_.**

 

  I try _so_ _hard_ \- so _very_ hard - to push these feelings away. I _need_ to get myself together, like they're all shouting for me to do. I _need_ to pull through for the team. I _need_ to contribute to the-

  "Guys, I  _can't_ …"

  Was that... _my_ voice?

  No...

  No, no _no_...

  My eyes widen, my grip tightening on the controls as my blood runs thick and icy and slow in my veins.

  What did I just say?

  What have I done?

  I want to slap myself. Why am I so fucking thoughtless? Why am I such a fucking moron? Now they're gonna think I'm even _more_ pathetic than they already did...

Right? Won't they...? And then, suddenly, just like a spark in the dark, I'm hoping that maybe - _just maybe_ \- they might choose some sort of alternative way to attack the fleet, just for me. That they'll understand my deteriorated state, at least retreat a little... and then, because I have their support, I'll find my strength, and we'll fight, even stronger than we were before, and win.

  It's a passing, fleeting hope. A child's fantasy.

  Reality isn't that kind.

  " _What?_  Are you _kidding_ me? You _have_ to, Lance! We _need_ you right now! We can't retreat yet, Allura hasn't given the signal!" Shiro... sounds exasperated.

  I… I expected no less.

  I expected no less, but, _God_ , isn't it funny?

  They need me, he says.

  They need me.

  They need me, they need me, they need me.

  Even though I'm the hinderance.

  Everyone needs me, even though all of this time I've clearly been nothing to them.

  Why didn't I see it before?

  They need me, maybe.

  But they sure as hell don't want me. 

  That thought is the final straw. My grip slips from Blue's controls, and I can feel her panic, but it does nothing to rouse my motivation. 

  I can't do it anymore. 

 _Any_ of it.

  I can't handle the _constant_ insecurity and doubt. The  _constant_ pressure, the _constant_ rejection, the voice in the back of my mind that  _won't shut up_ _,_  telling me that I'm nothing more than… 

  Than useless stardust.

  I can't help it when my eyes slide shut, when my bond with the Blue Lion fades out. And, just as I can't function without a will to go on...

  Voltron can't stand with one leg, can it?

  More flashing red lights interrupt the dark from behind my eyelids. A weightless, empty feeling settles into my soul and surrounds me; a protective barrier. Blue is calling me, calling out to me, trying to wake me, but it's pointless. It's all pointless.

  I'm pointless.

  Memories of my childhood on Earth flash through my mind again.

  They're almost bright as the tractor beam that pulls Blue and I into the hull of an awaiting Galra ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any questions or just want to make my day by leaving a comment, feel free to post either below and I'll do my best to answer! Feedback is very encouraging and I'd love to know which parts stick out to you as your favorite - thank you to those who have already left comments, you're the best!


	2. That is the Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Blue Lion and Paladin gone, team Voltron has to reorient themselves and overcome the shock of the moment. After playing the blame game and wondering why the Galra would specifically target the Blue Lion, the team begins to make rescue plans...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author notes:  
> Hello everyone! I am very, very sorry about the... extremely long delay. This past year at school was very stressful for me and put me under a lot of pressure, not to mention that I had other, more personal things that were causing problems and stress. Things got a little too tough for me to find the free time or the motivation to write for enjoyment; however, I should be able to make updates to this story as things stand currently! I never abandoned it, and am still very much in love with the idea of a fluffy Lancelot story. 
> 
> Happy reading!

  Despite their exhausted and fatigued condition, each of the Paladins of the Lions of Voltron intuitively and immediately understands the situation they’ve been put in.

  Within ticks, the remaining Lions are separated and poised to counterattack, the Paladin’s bayards at the ready to destroy metal and magic in order to figure out where the Blue Lion has gone; however, within the blink of an eye, a blinding flash of light that has everyone squinting and cringing away from it is emitted from the direction of the Galra fleet, accompanied by loud aerodynamic noise. The next time the Paladins look up, all of the antagonizing enemy ships are moving towards them from behind a translucent barrier of light. This spectacle puts them all in a frozen state of confusion and panic, which keeps them paralyzed until they realize that the barrier isn't moving and is preventing any of the fighter jets from reaching the Lions. On the contrary, each ship completely disappears with a burst of light as soon as it makes contact... almost as though they’re being transported somewhere. Which is supposed to be impossible, as the teludav should be the only wormhole technology available in the entire known Universe. What’s more, it can only be controlled by Allura. Regardless, the very moment that the Paladins are able to shake themselves out of their stupor, the anomaly has completely disappeared from sight and detection, and every opposing warship they were just facing has vanished into thin air.

  Although this is indeed strange, at the moment, the mere fact that the Blue Lion is gone is all anyone is able to mentally grasp.

  It’s almost as though the Galra have gotten what they’ve been looking for... which is sketchy to Shiro, especially, as up until this point Zarkon has only shown interest in capturing and controlling the Black Lion. In their last major fight, Shiro could barely even control her because of him, and each encounter with him seems to only strengthen Zarkon’s bond with her. He silently supposes that it’s possible that the empire’s desperation to get even one Lion may have just paid off for them this time, but he still considers it strange, given that Voltron has been doing nothing but fighting and retreating time and time again due to Zarkon’s ruthless tracking methods, which have been closely, if not entirely related to the Black Lion and the Black Lion only.

  Pidge mentally muses that facing one hundred fully armed and able Galra fleets would be better than suddenly facing none and lacking a Lion, after what has seemed like phoebs of endless fighting. The whole situation is suspicious to her, as well.

  Everything is enveloped in an eerie, ominous silence - which is strange to them, considering that only a few ticks earlier there was so much noise that they could barely hear themselves think - and no one so much as moves before it’s broken.

  Pidge, Hunk, and Keith can each hear the way Shiro sighs, the group intercom transmission Lance initiated still not having ceased – at least... not among those left.

  At this moment, it’s as if some sort of spell has broken, and everyone seems to realize for the first time and with simultaneous horror the _full_ reality of what has just happened. Yes, the Blue Lion is gone, but...

  That means _Lance_ is gone, too.

  Exhaustion doesn’t seem to matter to anyone anymore, but they're all frozen and no one can move.

  A few dobashes pass by before the panic truly begins to rise in Hunk, starting in his stomach, where much of his intuition does. Neither Pidge nor Keith are going unscathed by the consternation encompassing the empty, dark space that surrounds them, but he is the first to voice his feelings.

 “Uh, guys. This... isn’t good...” He whimpers, and in response Keith hisses under his breath. Everyone can practically see his eyes rolling.

  “No _shit,_ captain obvious.” Hunk cringes at the venom in his voice but says nothing. 

  “Keith,” Shiro warns, but the Red Paladin swears again, his voice rising as he shifts to face the Black Lion from inside the Red Lion, who is seemingly bristling with the same anger her pilot holds.

  “Lance has just been fucking _kidnapped_ by the Galra empire... and you’re worried about my _language?_ What the hell?” The tension between them is practically palpable, but neither of them says anything more. Keith himself will (begrudgingly) admit that he’s hotheaded in general, but normally he’s able to keep things cool around Shiro, considering the bond they share. But one of their own team is gone and – he notes this with an increasing sense of dread – it’s probably their fault. Every second they go without doing something, to Keith, is a second wasted. He may not have ever been on the greatest of terms with the Blue Paladin, but, at the very least, he can acknowledge how invaluable he is to Voltron. He’d never want to see anything bad happen to him... at least, not seriously and not this bad, anyways. He grits his teeth and tightens his grip on the Red Lion’s controls as the strained silence stretches on.

  Keith and Shiro both seem to silently agree that the last thing any of them needs right now is another team rift. The former shakes his head and forces himself to cool down, muttering a “sorry, Shiro,” under his breath. As soon as he utters the last syllable, each Paladin receives a video transmission from the Castleship – and it’s Allura, who looks confused and bewildered.

  “What - What happened out there? The ships, they... Well, it couldn’t have possibly been the work of Altean teludav technology, but it was something very, very similar. Regardless, they’ve vanished, and there’s no signs of debris like there would be if they had been destroyed upon impact. And-" Allura cuts herself off and goes completely silent, her eyes wide and wild. 

  "Wait just a tick... where... is the Blue Lion?”

  No one speaks. 

  "Shiro? Keith, Pidge, Hunk? Anybody?" They all look away from her holographic image.

  _Didn’t she see it?_

  Didn't she see the way he just... _vanished?_

  Apparently not, from the way she murmurs, her skin pale, “Lance...?”

  Pidge is the first one to answer her, “Voltron... was broken apart. The Blue Lion was taken via tractor beam into the hull of the main warship of the fleet. Lance was inside, of course – I don’t think that there could have even been enough time for him to escape. Assuming he would have been conscious enough to act.”  On this last sentence, Pidge’s tone takes a melancholic turn, and after her words, a heavy silence sits between everyone.

  “... Y-You... should all come in and...” Allura doesn’t finish after trailing off. No one can blame her.

  “Come on guys. Everyone meet at the bridge in ten dobashes, so we can... talk. About this.” Pidge, Hunk, and Keith’s faces each fall as they follow Shiro's lead and steer their Lions back towards the castle ship.

  There is certainly a lot to talk about. 

 

* * *

 

  It’s been a few dobashes since everyone gathered, but no one has spoken yet.

  Every time someone looks up to say something, they find that they can’t. They just can’t. No one even knows where to begin. There are so many questions. Shiro furrows his eyebrows, rubbing the tense space between his eyebrows, sighing and thus breaking the silence. 

  "This will be hard, but we all need to concentrate. No matter what, we have to find out what happened, and where the Blue Lion is, so that we can rescue it and Lance. The Universe depends on us - on Voltron. We have to figure something out." Allura frowns.

  "... Shiro is right. Now is not teh time to be so listless. So, let's think. What exactly do we know at this point?" She inquires.

  "The Blue Lion - Lance... has been taken." Pidge speaks, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "But... What went wrong? We were fighting just fine, and then... Then Voltron just forced itself apart, and he was gone," she continues. Everyone's eyes are downcast, the minds behind them all considering the same question.  _Why?_

Why the Blue Lion? Why _Lance?_ All this time, Zarkon has only been chasing after the Black Lion. Day in, day out, they've been doing nothing but running from his forces, hiding out on alien planets and helping the citizens when they can. So, what changed, so suddenly? 

  Lance did, one of the paladins thinks to himself. 

He keeps it to himself. He keeps his demeanor calm as he speaks, "... Pidge, do you think you could gather feedback from the Lions? Video footage, energy trace signatures? To see what went wrong?" Pidge looks at Keith in a startled manner, having been in a reserved and subdued frame of mind two seconds earlier. 

  "Uh... Uh, oh, yeah, of course. Of course, I can." She shakes her head and immediately jumps up to grab her computer, face pulled in a frown all the while. It disappears behind the screen within moments. Allura squirms, her savvy as a leader seemingly vanished into thin air.

  "That's right, we need to identify the cause and find him, at all costs..." Shiro gives her a small smile and grabs her hand.

  Hunk hasn't spoken or looked up since he sat down. All he can think about is that he didn't get to say goodbye. No, even worse, he awkwardly told Lance he didn't want to hang out with him. He didn't even smile at Lance. He just... 

  He didn't do anything. 

  What if that was the last time...?

  His last chance to see his best friend.

  And he was only thinking about baking. 

  Keith speaks up from behind Pidge's shoulder, pointing at the screen animatedly. 

  "There. You see? He let go of the controls and closed his eyes, and immediately after that the feed blacks out." 

  His words catch the attention of everyone in the room, including Coran, who had been standing by Allura, looking like a worried mother hen. 

  "He... he what?" Allura's voice trembles, eyebrows upturned.

  Pidge grimaces, "okay, yeah, but what exactly does that even mean? I get what you're trying to say, but why would Lance... purposely break Voltron apart?" Keith shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed.

  "I don't think that's... exactly what he did. But, based on this footage, I do think that, somehow, whenever he let go, something interrupted his connection with the Blue Lion, causing the split." Pidge's mouth twists.

  "Well... the energy signatures from the Blue Lion reflect some kind of panicked spike and then a decline right at the same timestamp, so, maybe you're onto something. But what could possibly have enough energy to break a bond with a Lion? That sounds impossible... Allura? Coran?" Allura shakes her head.

  "I don't know of such a technology... Coran?" She questions. He pensively twists his moustache with his fingers, eyebrows furrowed.

  "

   “Of course, he wants to come back! Who would want to stay on a Galra ship? No worries, Hunk... He's probably eagerly awaiting a rescue at this very moment! Besides, we still need him to pilot the Blue Lion and help us save the Universe. No doubt our typical Lance still wants to be a hero!” asserts Coran, grinning in such a confident and contagious way, his hand resting on Hunk’s shoulder. Within ticks everyone is smiling again, all thoughts on brainstorming Lance's escape.

  Keith still can’t help but feel that something is off.

  Although it had been Lance’s moment of weakness that separated Voltron, it still made _all_ of the Lions vulnerable. If Zarkon had been paying so much attention to the Black Lion, that would have been the ideal, perfect opportunity to take it... so... why _didn’t_ he? Why did he take the Blue Lion instead? Why did he take _Lance?_ And with how Lance has been feeling lately... Keith knows that he’s still incredibly emotionally unstable. Zarkon’s actions earlier this quintant didn’t line up with the actions he’d previously been taking, and there’s really only two reasons that could be. Either he’d had enough of trying and failing to get a hold of the Black Lion (which doesn’t really quite make sense because his bond grows stronger with her with each passing varga)... or the Galra could somehow detect Lance’s emotional instability... and they took him. What would work better for their cause than a Paladin holding a grudge against his companions? Wasn’t that partly how Zarkon turned out to be so...

  Keith shivers at the thought. No, that can’t possibly be it... and yet, it’s the only thing that makes sense to him. That’s the only thing that could make sense to anyone if they’re thinking logically. He’s about to re-voice his concerns, turning back to his teammates with determination in his eyes, but as soon as he opens his mouth, something Pidge says catches his attention. While he was so busy wrapped up in thought, Allura had asked her to pull up video footage from the Castle surveillance cameras that would have caught the moment the Blue Lion was taken. The team is all busy watching as Pidge fast-forwards the fight to the desired moment. Her breath hitches, and she hunches over her laptop, grabbing the sides of it.

  “No, that... that can't be right. Hold on,” she murmurs, eyebrows drawn together in confusion and concern. Keith makes his way over, a sinking, ominous feeling in his stomach, as Pidge presses a few keys on her keyboard and the footage rewinds. From his spot behind Shiro, peering above his shoulder, Keith is able to catch a glimpse of what is playing on the screen. His eyes widen.

  Now that... is no ordinary Galra battle cruiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any questions or just want to make my day by leaving a comment, feel free to post either below and I'll do my best to answer! Feedback is very encouraging and I'd love to know which parts stick out to you as your favorite - thank you to those who have already left comments!


	3. Whether 'Tis Nobler in the Mind to Suffer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Given everything that Lance has been through, he's definitely not expecting comfort or respect aboard a Galra warship, of all places... much less hospitality. Is Lotor just toying with him, or is he being genuine? And, even if he is being genuine, how does Lance even feel about that? How does Lance feel about anything anymore?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have my apologies for how shitty this chapter is oof. Fun fact: I've had this written since right after I posted chapter one. It was actually supposed to be chapter two, but it felt a little too soon, and I also wanted to visit the rest of the Voltron team after their realization that Lance had disappeared. 
> 
> Also, for those who aren't going to go back to see my added note on the first chapter: if you've seen season six, no, Lotor isn't a "source of evil" in this story - anyways, happy reading!

  Waking up is always a chore for me, but it kinda helps some, being nestled into a comfy bed, surrounded by warm, fluffy blankets and pillows. I stare down at my hands with a near-hysterical grin, despite it all.

  Okay, well, actually, that doesn't really help; that only makes me want to snuggle deeper into the confines of sleep. But it's worlds more comfortable than waking up on the floor or a hard couch (back at home, most of the time, I took the latter in the living room in favor of letting my younger siblings hog my bed), which is definitely the _least_  of how I'd expect to wake up aboard a Galra spacecraft, if ever I did. 

  The thing is... I did? And I think I can differentiate a bed from the floor.

  Before anyone accuses me of, like, hallucinating or something; even if my body _is_ exhausted and my vision blurred from the wake of sleep, this room is explicitly Galran. Everything I lay my eyes on is that ominous combination of purple and grey that their kind seems to love so much - and the architecture and layout are both _lightyears_ away from being anything like those of the Castle of Lions. And, I mean, c’mon; everything is powered by that evil purple quintessence that characterizes literally all of their technology. The room I’m in is nothing like mine on the Castle, anyways – it’s so big you could fit, like, four of mine into it. And that's not even counting the bathroom, which I'm assuming is at the opposite end of the room, judging by the random door there.

  Unless I have a roommate.

  Or, maybe the Galra don’t even use bathrooms? My eyes widen in horror and I shiver at the thought. With a shake of my head, I decide to not even go there. That's beside the point, anyways... which, the point is that things just... look different.

  What does that mean, you ask? I could still be hallucinating or going crazy, you say? Well, my imaginary buddy, consider this; how the hell would I know what the inside of a Galra ship's _guest room_ looks like? They haven't exactly been diving at the chance to invite the Paladins inside for a sleepover. Pidge is the one who's got all the blueprints and tech down for that kind of shit, not me. I'm just kind of... there because I need to be. The moment Blue decides I’m not worthy...

  I lose all of my value to the team.

  At that, I pause in my train of thought, and everything is silent. I find myself staring blankly and with emptiness down at the deep lavender comforter that surrounds me.

  It's just a suspicion, but I think I severed our bond earlier.

  I shiver at the thought and shake my head.

  For now, at least it's still just a suspicion. It's not like I can confirm it; I have no idea where Blue is.

  I'm still the Blue Paladin, at least for right now. Regardless of whether or not my team wants me to be.

  I pause again.

Ah.

  That's right.

  On this massive, too-comfortable-for-comfort bed, I begin to remember. I remember how, just before I passed out, I wanted more than anything to be home - or, really,  _anywhere_  away from the Lions and the Castle and the fightingand... being ignored. Feeling useless. Feeling worthless.

  I mean, I guess I somewhat got my wish, but...

  This situation seems, somehow, so much more dangerous and unnerving than the one I was in before. And it only gets worse; the more I think about it, the more unsettling it becomes. I woke up pleasantly,albeit a little groggy. I was left in a big, fancy, comfortable room. Left there alone, to boot. Sleeping peacefully. By the  _enemy._  

  For absolutely no good reason? I don’t think so.

_This is wrong._

  I take it back, I  _must_ be hallucinating. My head starts swimming, and my body feels like it's doing the same, swathed in all of these soft sheets and blankets that remind me too much of silk from Earth, from _home_. I decide that this is so, so much worse than waking up chained to the ceiling, bloody and injured.

  At least then, I would know what their intentions are with me.

  What  _is_  this?

  My breathing picks up quickly. What could they possibly want with  _me,_  of all people, that they feel like they need to get on my good side? Don’t they already have Blue? Even _that_ doesn’t make sense. They would have _definitely_ taken the Black Lion if given the chance. I mean, that’s all they’ve been after all this time.

  Who even _is_ "they" in this situation? Zarkon? No, he would have killed me the second he got her in his hands... right? Or, maybe he's keeping me hostage? He doesn’t have the Black Lion, yet, after all. Maybe he’s... asking the others for some kind of ransom?

  At that word, I pause, in the middle of a shaky exhale.

  Ransom.

  _Ransom._

  I laugh a bit bitterly and then wince, finding my body to be sore, probably from the blows dealt to me when Voltron was forced apart. If that’s the case, little does he know that he chose the wrong Paladin for  _that_  kind of deal. I mean, they...

  They...

  My eyes glaze over.

  They... don't really care about me, do they?

  The knot in my stomach returns and I feel nauseous.

  Did they ever?

  Shiro, Hunk, Pidge, Keith, Allura, Coran... they all only really need me so that they can form Voltron. 

  What happens now that I'm... gone? Will they... try and find me? Rescue me?

  No, they don't have the time or resources to waste on that. They need to get the Blue Lion back as soon as possible. That would be the team’s priority. And once they have it back... I guess they'll be finding someone new, won't they? Or, maybe Allura or Coran could pilot Blue? I mean, we haven't tried something like that, yet, so... it could be possible. And, anyways. Anyone's better than Lance, right? I again laugh bitterly for a few seconds, but then stop to clench my jaw as another wave of nausea and pain wracks my body. I find that I can’t breathe, like I’ve somehow forgotten.

  It’s like water is filling my lungs every time I so much as try.

  My chest is heaving, so I know, I know, I _must_ be taking in oxygen... but I feel like I’m suffocating. Like I’m dying.

Before I know it, I'm sweating and shaking and the sheets and blankets that were once comfortable are suddenly far, far too warm. I try to shove them off quickly, but they're  _everywhere,_ enveloping _everything,_ and I can’t escape, I can’t, I can’t-

_How long have I been here? How much time has passed since I blacked out?_

  God, why won't they just come off?

  _Will they even think about coming to get me?_

  They’re too thick, there are too many sheets, I’m trapped, I’m trapped-

_It's not true, right? I'm just assuming things all on my own, right?_

  I’m wrapped tight, so tight, I can’t breathe, God, I can’t breathe-

 **** _They still want me on the team, don't they? Please, God, tell me that somebody wants me-_

  I’m being smothered and strangled, and I need to  _get out,_  I need to  _leave,_   _I need to-_

_Probably, if I had never tried to interact with them, they would have forgotten I even existed._

I lean over the side of the bed too far in an attempt to escape the confines of fabric and fall with a loud, painful thud to the floor, which knocks what little air I feel like I have in my lungs straight out of them. I scramble to my feet, chest still quivering and heaving and find that that whole struggle was futile because I _still_ feel like I can't breathe. In fact, it’s all worse now. The air around my vulnerable body is freezing, my armor completely gone, save for the stiff, fitted black skin suit. I don’t know how I didn’t realize that earlier, but... it doesn’t matter now. I’m shaking.

  _Everything is shaking._

 _The door, where is the door-_  

  I can't see it - my vision is too blurry - but it doesn't seem to matter anymore because my stomach is _heaving and heaving in time with my chest and-_

  The room swims together with anxietous swirls of purple, black, and grey before I fall to my knees and vomit what little contents I have in my stomach onto the floor.

  Everything fades to black and I’m empty. 

 

* * *

 

  Sunshine dances vividly from behind my eyelids.

  Yellows and oranges and reds all twist together languidly in an expression of light that leaves me feeling like I’m light-headed, despite the fact that I already know I’m not conscious.

  I can _feel_ the warmth on my face... God, how I miss that warmth.

  Whether it's her hand, or if it's the Sun’s rays themselves, I can't really tell. The sensation is nothing quite like that of either, but it’s warmth is a welcoming one.

  I frown at that thought. Space is cold... so cold.Most other planets each have some kind of variation of the Sun, or even multiple variations, but it's just... It’s always different. It's never the same. Never familiar. Never like _my_ sun.   

  Sunlight, rain, grass, trees, soil...  _Earth._  It's all one of a kind, even in this vast Universe of planets and asteroids and parallels and hidden pockets of time and space. I haven’t seen anything like it, during all this time of fighting and intergalactic diplomacy and exploration.

  My Earth will always be _my_ Earth, and _God..._  am I missing it right now.

_I hate space._

_I want to go home._

_I want to see my old friends._

_I want to see my family._

  The hidden desires boil up beneath my conscience because, even though my eyes are closed, I can feel it. I can feel her bright, kind, understanding gaze, I can feel the rolling hills and oceans settling behind her. Gaze, hills, and oceans that I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing in what seems like a lifetime.

  I know it's a dream. I _know_ it is... But, even if it  _is_ just a dream, please, God, just let it last a little bit longer.

  Of course, that wish is unrealistic.

  All good things must come to an end. 

  I feel the sunbeams on my face for one last moment before the feeling disappears altogether. I'm left with an aching, lonely, and cold one in its place.   

 

* * *

 

  By the time I come back into awareness, I've already missed the majority of a conversation for which I'm pretty sure I was the subject. And, judging by the bitter, acrid taste of bile in my mouth, I can imagine why. After a few moments of recalling the delicate position I'm in, I force myself to stay as still as I can so as not to alert anyone to my awareness. I don't know what they'd do if they found out I was awake... plus, this is also a prime opportunity to find out a little more about what they intend to do with me. 

  "-found him like that? You were responsible for ensuring his comfort, Ezor!"

  "Well, he definitely didn't choose the right person for _that_ job." The owner of the voice starts giggling after their witty statement. Another voice, I think the first one, sighs.

  "What if he’s dead? The Prince's probably gonna throw a fit. I've never seen him so serious about requesting for someone's safety. Even though I’m sure he has good reason, it’s kinda weird to be honest. I wish he’d brief us on what the hell is going on already.” Damn. So, they don’t know either. Also, who the hell is "he"?

  "I agree. Has he _ever_ requested for someone’s safety, actually? I mean, to be honest, why haven't we decided to just kill this one off already? Wouldn’t that be best for the Empire?"  _Uhhh..._

  "I feel you, believe me. The second I laid eyes on him I wanted to tear him to shreds." I shiver. If I’m being honest, I don’t know what scares me more; the fact that she didn’t or the fact that I kinda wish she did.

  "Yeah, seriously. I mean, any Galra in their right mind would have to admit that he looks encouragingly vulnerable. I mean, he's so skinny? And look at his weird ears, Zethrid. And his hair? Looks like some kitten took shears to it." Oh no.

  She.

  Did.

  _Not._

  I snap up into an upright position and glare in the direction of the responsible alien's voice. She's... colorful, both literally and in her demeanor. I shake myself out of my observatory staring and continue to glare maliciously at her.

  "Excuse you! For your information, Nina’s a toddler, not some cat!* She was really cute; how could I have resisted? She was all  _"_ Awww, Lancey-Lance, pleeeaaase? I practiceded for weeks on my dolls!" I mean? Come on! Next time you're able to resist the charm of a toddler on the verge of crying, give me a call, and we'll have this debate, okay?" By the time I finish, I'm all arms crossed and out of breath, and kind of genuinely pissed. I've gotten used to the ear insults because of Allura and Coran, but – my hair? My hair is _beautiful,_ and I won't let some pretty alien girl tell me anything otherwise. Speaking of which, said alien girl - girls - are silent. I'm about to go on defending myself and my beloved little sister when I realize my error.

  Oh.

 **** _Oh shit._

  Cover blown!

  I'm about to sprint as fast as I can for the exit when one of them huffs.

  "Listen, I mean couldn't you have like, given her pointers or something? I mean, I see you've been taking care of it, but, jeez! It's so messy, and it’s all weirdly chopped off in the front. Is that just a human thing?" She pouts and ruffles a few strands of my bangs, eyebrow quirked.

  I'm honestly kind of surprised to find that I don't flinch away, considering who she is and what position I’m in, although I’m not sure that saying that it feels good would be accurate, either. I do, however, narrow my eyes at her.

  "Nina did a wonderful job, and I'm prepared to fight you to prove my point," I raise my fists from my spot on the ground and she grins enthusiastically, a glimmer of excitement and eagerness in her eyes, taking a colorful fighting stance of her own. 

  "Oh, it's  _on,_  Blue Paladin scum-" The other alien woman, who I assume to be Zethrid by the gruff way she speaks, interrupts. Which is a little terrifying, to be honest, because she's, like, buffer than Shiro. And, I know what you're thinking; _how is that even possible?_ But, seriously, believe me when I tell you that her muscles could make Shiro's muscles cry, okay? She's no joke.

  "Look, as much as I want to see you two idiots rip each other's throats out," from the grin on her face and the sparkle in her eyes I really doubt that she's kidding, but it fades a little when she looks up and gestures with her chin to behind us, "I don't think Prince Lotor wants our...  _guest_  to be put into poor shape."

  I narrow my eyes at her statement and mutter under my breath as I turn around to face what she gestured to, "Why do you assume I'm the one who's gonna..." only to find, "be... put in..." that it’s a  _who,_  "bad... shape?" Not a  _what._

_Holy hell._

  I figure he must stand at least four or so inches above me if I were standing, which would make me feel small if not for the fact that his long, sweeping, sinuous hair is the color of my memories – in particular, bright, white sea foam washing in from the shore. It cascades around his figure, which is strong, lean, and masculine underneath his well-worn, but... different Galran armour. His skin is smooth and a milky lavender, and his eyes are golden and blue. Somehow, impossibly, I feel like I've seen them before. It’s insane, because there's absolutely _no_ way I would have ever been able to see those eyes and not remember every last little detail about the circumstances under which I did, but, nonetheless, I can't recall anything specific.

  For just a split second... I feel like I'm seeing Allura.

  This is the thought that makes me pause in my observations. It gives me as many feelings of guilt as it does dread and misery; I hate myself for not being able to resist the thought, for still feeling so intensely attached to the idea of loving her, being special to her, making her happy. She never even so much as looks my way with a smile on her face, but here I am, remembering her in someone else, anyway. It feels unfair – for the fact that it's even happening alone, and to him, who I know not the first thing about. Embarrassment isn't the only emotion that colors my burning cheeks as the gaze of this “Prince Lotor” continues to deepen on me.

  Wait.

 _Prince_... Lotor?

  Prince, as in, son of an emperor or king.

  Prince – _Galra_ prince – as in, son of...

_Zarkon._

  My eyes snap up to study and scrutinize his face and, although I can’t really see the resemblance, I can tell, somehow, that my assumption is right. I mean, why else would they call him that? In my observations of his face, I look at his eyes, and then, when they meet mine unexpectedly, into them.

  In a cold sweat, I'm reminded of my past; his expression is daunting and stone hard to read, and my awe and admiration turns frigid in the back of my mind while trepidation and intimidation take their rightful places.

  Suddenly, it's like I don't know what to do with myself, much less what to say. One look in his foreign eyes is enough to make me remind myself that I don't belong here, or anywhere, or with anyone.

  One look is enough to remember everyone else's.

  One look is enough to tear down my walls, poke at my fears and insecurities, and leave me speechless.

 _His first impression is like nothing I've ever experienced._      

  The room is silent for a moment, and it's only then that I realize that I never actually heard him come in. His gaze finally shifts away from me and lands on Ezor, and I feel like I can finally breathe again, although I don't recall ever stopping.

  "... Although I do see," Oh no,  _oh no, his voice, oh no,_  "that you and the Blue Paladin are having fun with your little quarrel, Zethrid is, indeed, right. Even if you were simply feigning hostility for the sake of amusement, it wouldn't be favorable if anything happened to him." I'm sure my face is even more red right now than it was before, but I don't even care, because I could listen to his voice all- 

  No.

  No, Lance.

  No, you couldn’t. In fact, what voice? You don’t hear anything.

  I frown at myself, frustrated with my abnormal reactions to Prince Lotor. _I, a Paladin of Voltron, am upon the battle cruiser of the son of the Universe's sworn enemy._  So, why am I like this?

  Why do I have to remind myself that I'm basically a hostage, and that I shouldn't be feeling at ease or at home?

  Why do I have to remind myself that I'm just being used again? 

  In fact, they’re probably using some sort of Galra witchcraft to make me feel like things are actually cool and great when they _definitely, definitely_ aren’t. I shouldn’t have to remind myself that I’m just a pawn, just a tool for them to fuck with so they can get Voltron and make the whole Universe their slaves.

  I can’t allow myself to be swayed. Even if my team doesn’t give a shit about me anymore and never comes for me...

   _I am still the Blue Paladin._

  I am still responsible for the fates of countless of people. Regardless of whether or not I’m good or bad at being a Paladin, or whether or not I’m a valuable asset to the team outside of that, I think I know better than to give in to the enemy. Whatever the Galra are planning will have no effect on me. I refuse to be as weak as everyone thinks I am.

  Zethrid grunts in a way that says  _I told you so_  and Ezor shoots her a dirty look before sighing out a "yes, sir," and crouching with a grin before me on the floor.

  "Alrighty then, mister Blue Paladin, sir, wanna tell me what this weird, funny-smelling substance on the floor is?" She gestures to the mess I made of myself earlier. Oh. Right. I look away, feeling my cheeks heat up involuntarily, overly self-conscious and slightly humiliated. I feel like some sort of specimen under Ezor, Zethrid and Prince Lotor’s searching gazes. I gather my bearings enough to look up at Ezor with an indifferent expression, although indifferent is the last thing I'm feeling right now.

  "Not really," she narrows her eyes at me and is about to open her mouth when I continue speaking, "but if you need to know, it's called vomit, and it comes from the stomach," with that, I pause to look down and point to mine before looking back up at her curious face. "It happens sometimes when humans are physically sick, overly anxious or nervous, or disgusted." She raises an eyebrow.

  "Oh? Well, which reason made you produce this, uh, 'vomit'?" My eyes widen a little and my pulse speeds up a little. Ezor doesn't seem to be the only one who's curious to know. Zethrid is studying her curled up hand but glancing over at us every few seconds and Lotor isn't even pretending to not be invested in our conversation. Her question kind of throws me for a loop, to be honest. I guess I wasn't really expecting to be asked about it, although, now that I think about it, that was the obvious and logical reaction. For some reason, the mere fact that I even have to be asked irritates me. Like I decided earlier, I won’t give in. I glare up at Ezor.

  “Gee, I don’t know. You try being a Paladin of Voltron and waking up on a _Galra warship.”_  The room falls silent, and the staring continues, and I shift uncomfortably under its weight.

  What exactly did they expect? For me to be polite? Thankful? Informative? Tell them my weaknesses? Like, “ _Uh, yeah, I’m so sorry, I kinda had a panic attack because I don't know what you guys want from me and that’s creepy as hell because you’re all a part of the GALRA EMPIRE. Oh, plus, everyone I love and care about doesn't even want to give me the time of day, so, obviously, I'll probably never be rescued by them and they probably hate me and would be happy to let me rot here. Thinking about all that made me so sick and anxious that I hurled all over your pretty spaceship floor, again, really sorry about that._ _”_

  Yeah, I don't think so.

   The silence continues, and it gets so awkward and serious that I start feeling slightly guilty and am about to try and bullshit my way out of the situation. Before I can open my mouth, Lotor takes a step forward and taps Ezor on the shoulder. She rises and turns to face him silently, her expression much less lively than before.

  "I think that should be enough for you two, at the moment. Zethrid, you can join Narti and Acxa at the bridge, and you, Ezor, can find one of the sentries to come clean up the Blue Paladin's... 'vomit', before joining them." 

  I find myself thinking, against my will, that his voice, smooth and undeniably soft, doesn’t belong to him. How could it, when he’s the son of Zarkon? How could it, when he’s probably going to kill me sometime soon? I almost laugh. His pretty voice won’t be so smooth and undeniably soft, then, will it?

  Ezor and Zethrid don’t really look all too thrilled about leaving their leader in the same room as me, but, nonetheless, they both exit without looking back. With their departure, Lotor’s intimidating presence and aura are almost suffocating, and I can’t will myself to even look up at him from my place on the ground. With a lack of the earlier panic, my mind begins to wander.

  Why hasn’t he killed me, yet? Why am I being treated so politely?

  I don’t know whether to feel sad or amused at the thought that the prince of the Galra Empire makes me feel better than my own team. My own friends.

  The politeness is scary, sure, and most likely a lie, but, well, it's the least I deserve, if I'll eventually end up dying, regardless.

  ...

  I... hate this.

  I find myself wishing desperately that this was another Universe. One where my friends loved and valued me. One where I could be talented and smart. One where I could be confident. And not the stupid, fake confidence I try to project to hide my inner torment. My failure. _Real confidence._ Genuine confidence; the kind that attracts other people to a person. The kind of confident that still cares. Humble and caring.

  I want to be genuinely listened to.

  I want to genuinely be cared about.

  I want to be genuinely _wanted._

  The burn of tears forming in my eyes mortifies me, because it’s so stupid, isn’t it? It’s stupid that I was careless enough to be abducted because of my weaknesses and insecurities. It’s stupid that I’d want to be in another Universe when this one needs me - while I’m still the Blue Paladin, at least. It’s stupid that I’m about to cry at the knees of Prince Lotor, who is dangerous, to me, in both nature and looks.

  It’s all so stupid.

  I’m so stupid.

  A swirled, blurry shape of purple and black invades my lowered gaze before the tears can make their official debut on my face, and I startle back, blinking them away. It’s a hand.

_His hand._

  My eyes owlishly follow it up to where it begins, follow it up to the prince. If he can see the state I’m in, he ignores it, the smile on his face kind, his eyes soft instead of all-knowing and all-burning, like I would have expected. I say nothing and just stare at him, but he doesn’t falter. Not even a little bit.

  “... I understand that you are confused and anxious. You do not feel even an ounce of safety here, and that is understandable. But, dear Blue Paladin, I can promise you that no harm will come to you while you are near me or one of my generals. I have no intention of killing you or hurting you. I wish for your stay here to be peaceful. Therapeutic, if you will.” He says, his voice like velvet. His tone makes me flinch. It’s... sweet. Too sweet. Therapeutic? If only he actually knew what he was saying. I lower my gaze back down to the floor for fear of falling into his obvious trap. For falling into his honeyed words.

  “Then why am I here, Prince Lotor? If you didn’t want any harm to come to me, you should have just left me alone.” I hear chuckling and my eyes snap up to his face, which holds a wry smile, tinged with sadness.

  “I think you and I both are very aware that leaving you alone there with them would have been destructive for you, at best.” My eyes widen with shock. How... How could he have even...? I clench my jaw and narrow my gaze on him with suspicion and distrust. I push his hand out of my face roughly with firm fists and shakily get to my feet without his "help". I’m still sore, and now weak from throwing up what little food I had before we were deployed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, _your highness_ ,” I mutter mockingly under my breath. Other than a slightly clenched jaw, nothing changes about Prince Lotor’s demeanor. His eyes and smile have returned to being a mix of patient, kind, and omniscient, and it makes me shiver.

  “Well, that talk can wait, I suppose.”

  _Why?_

  _Why is he looking at me like that?_

  I furrow my eyebrows, holding myself while involuntarily taking a few steps back and away from him.

  “... Seriously, enough with the bullshit. I’d rather know if and when I’m going to die than constantly anticipate it. There's no way you're actually invested in keeping me safe.” The prince sighs, patient, albeit slightly frustrated, and holds out the crook of his arm out to me.

  “As I’ve said, no harm will come to you. It is not my will. My intention in letting you rest peacefully this quintant was purely founded in the interest of your well-being, Blue Paladin. If you will accompany me, I shall explain to you what you are doing here, and why... and I can guarantee you that my explanation will involve nothing but genuine conversation.”

  ...

  His words... are doubtful. Or, rather, I really need to doubt them. Because, while it's true that sleeping did wonders for my "well-being" - now that I think about it, I _have_ been exhausted lately. I feel so much more aware now. I don't know how much sleep they let me get, but it was enough that I woke up on my own time, which means it was definitely more than a few mere varga - even that could still be a trick. He's toying with me. Making me think he... making me think he cares. When he doesn't. When he couldn't.

  His eyes meet mine purposefully, then shift down to his awaiting arm, and I flinch. I follow his gaze and swallow thickly, nervously. Does... he really expect me to take it? And... really, why should I? He...

  He’s very clearly lying to me. Why would he ever be interested in _my_ well-being?

  And... even if he is...

  I... can’t trust him.

  Again, I refuse to be weak. _I’m not going to fall for his lies._ That's what I've sworn to myself.

  But...

  I guess... it wouldn’t hurt to play along, since, right now, he’s pretending to try to get on my good side. Right?

  I'll still have the upper-hand. In knowledge, at least.

  Before I can think much more on it, I reach out and grasp the top of his arm from where I stand, about three feet away from him, and a bit more shakily than I’d like.

  I... think I did that right?

  I start to panic about not having thought through how to properly take his arm, so I look away and blurt the first response I can think of, “That’s– y-yeah, it’d better, also!... um, also... uh. S-Stop calling me “Blue Paladin,” just call me Lance – it’s weird.”

  I immediately feel myself wanting to curl up and die from mortification and regret and I scrunch up my face, cringing at myself at an angle he shouldn't be able to see.

  I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself - _whyyy? Why did I say that?_  Oh, _yes,_ Lance, let’s get on first-name basis with the scary alien prince who’s probably going to cause you a lot of pain and possibly even _certain death,_ what a wonderful idea! _God._ I _seriously_ just - ugh.

  I choose this moment to sneak a pained, still-cringing look over at Prince Lotor... only to find that he’s... laughing. I'm about to get defensive when something hits me. His laugh... it’s soft and...

  Not mocking me.

  No, it’s... it’s different? Somehow... his eyes. _His eyes._  They have... the same slant as mama’s from when I was a child and went around being awkward. Getting myself into trouble. She'd laugh like I was the most endearing and precious person in the world, and she'd hug me close. His eyes swirl and shine with sunshine and oceans in my memory, the sea foam of his hair brushing up on the surface of his face with every movement. And, God. If I thought his voice was nice, his laugh... his laugh is _otherworldly._ He’s covering it with his free hand, but I can still see the sliver of what seems like a really nice smile.

  Time... has stopped.

  When was the last time someone _looked_ at me like that?

  When was the last time someone _smiled_ at me like that?

  Is it really so sad that I can’t remember?

  I can’t help but stare at him, even after he’s stopped laughing. Even when I realize that I should stop. Even when I try to remind myself that I shouldn’t be fascinated by his lies.

  If he notices my staring and thinks it’s weird, he doesn’t say anything. He just gives me this... this look. Pretty eyes, pretty smile. _Both aimed at me._ He gently takes my quivering hand off of his forearm, guiding my fingers towards him and under the crook in his arm. Guiding me closer to him. He returns my hand to where it was, only this time, less awkwardly positioned.

  “Well, Lance," my name, the way he says _my name, oh God,_  "since you’ve chosen to allow me the honor of being able to use your name, I hope it is not too forward of me to insist that you use mine. Simply “Lotor” will more than suffice.”

  ...

  I find myself so lost, so buried in this feeling. I don’t really know what it is, but I feel like I can vaguely recall it from some other time and place. It’s somewhere between the feeling of appreciation and nostalgia. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to smile. It makes me feel like my hand is superglued to his armor, and I hate it, I'm sure. 

  I convince myself... that I hate this.

  Because it can’t possibly be anything more than a ploy.

  And I know that.

  I know that.

  I just.

  I just like the feeling of.

  Being looked at like I’m endearing.

  Like I’m valuable.

  Like...

  Like I’m wanted.

  “I... I... yes.” I murmur, and his eyes soften on me. Just like I feel myself softening on him.

_This is wrong._

  But is it? I mean... how could he fake such a genuine expression? How...? But, then again I've been duped by people I thought were being genuine with me before. Nyma. The mermaids. My... my teammates. 

  I...

  I really don't... know how to feel. About this. About him.

  Luckily, it seems I don’t need to.

  “... Come, Lance. We have much to discuss, do we not? It is my fervent desire to ease your mind.” I look away from his earnest eyes and lift my free hand to rub my neck.

  “Well, then. What are you waiting for? Lead the way, L... Lotor.” I’m a little envious that I can't help but falter while he can so quickly slip into using my name without hesitating. Isn’t it weird, to him? It should be weird. I’m an alien to him. One that he might... end up...

  I’m... so confused.

  Maybe he really _is_ using some sort of Galra magic on me. Otherwise, seriously, why am I...

  I can’t finish that sentence.

  Shouldn’t finish it.

_Won’t finish it._

  With an easy smile at the stutter of his name and graceful movements, the prince leads me out of the room and away from the conflicted thoughts I'm choosing to leave behind.

  Surely, I’ll never need to think them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note: Ezor's reference to a "kitten" cutting Lance's hair is actually to the Galra equivalent of a child/toddler, but Lance gets mixed up and thought she was referring to the Earthen definition.
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you have any questions or just want to make my day by leaving a comment, feel free to post either below and I'll do my best to answer! Feedback is very encouraging and I'd love to know which parts stick out to you as your favorite - thank you to those who have already left comments, you're the best!


	4. The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Lotor discusses his strategies with Lance, who has agreed to cooperate with them... for now, at least. Conversations with Zarkon and Acxa reveal some things about the prince's ties to the past. Both parties leave him with a very big, important decision to make and a personal dilemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, this is so long. Like, 7k+ words long? I haven't ever written such a long chapter, so I hope it's good. Happy reading, and happy 4th of July, if you live in the USA!

  I’ll be the very first to admit that the Blue Paladin of Voltron is very much... _not_ the image of what I expected.

  Not to say that he isn’t impressive, of course. I haven’t yet been able to personally bear witness to his individual skills, but, since he is a Paladin, I am of the firm belief that he certainly doesn’t need to be underestimated.

  No, that is not at all where my expectations lie.

  For starters, I am... at quite a loss as to how to read him. From what I have so-far observed, he is guarded and suspicious towards me, which is natural (and, quite honestly, I think I’d be rather perturbed if he was anything _less_ than distrustful). What is difficult for me to comprehend is that he seems to lack the natural... _malice_ I assumed would overtake his demeanor and actions if I so much as opened my mouth in his presence. After all, I am, unfortunately, my father’s son and, at the very least, I am very clearly half-Galra. If he were any of the other Paladins, I’m sure he’d have at least attempted one escape and thrown a slew of vulgar, likely foreign curses my way by now. I smile a little and sit back in my seat at a table in the mess, watching Lance eat rather unceremoniously, glancing up at me every few seconds – to make sure I haven’t suddenly decided to add him to my hitlist, I presume (of course, no such list exists - at least, not in such a violent context, anyhow).

  I suppose he is, in his own fashion, attempting to be cheeky to me. Almost every word he speaks to me practically drips with sarcasm and skepticism, and his eyes are perpetually narrowed, as though at any second I will lash out at him and send him to certain death. I suppress a chuckle. That would be a little counterproductive to my plans, I think.

  I believe I just wasn’t really expecting him to _so easily_ agree to talk with me. And for him to want me to use his first name? I must admit, it’s all a little strange to me. In addition to these behaviors and aside from the general acerbity in most of his speech, there have been a few moments of - how shall I put this? – softness. Little disarmed looks here and there, stutters and sarcasm-free mumbles.  

  And I suppose his behavior _does_ make a little sense, considering that I know what I know about his background. My simple courtesies are likely a welcome and unwelcome difference from how he was previously treated. On one hand, the positive attention _must_ feel nice after months and months of neglect and scolding, but on the other, it’s coming from myself and my generals, all of whom are a threat to him and the cause he stands for.

  He worries, both for no reason, and for good reason.

  If I had it my way, with his slim body, pretty brown hair, golden skin, and azure gaze, I don’t think I’d ever even _think_ about laying an ill-intended finger on him.

  That, in fact, is another aspect of the Blue Paladin that I had not expected. Overall, I was anticipating a... bigger, broader, more vicious foe. I was given no visual reference as to his appearance, only to use that... _device_ to locate and capture him (and, besides, it’s very difficult to confuse the Blue Lion with any of the others, so there was little preparation needed for taking him in) - so I’m sure one can imagine my confusion.

  It’s not exactly that I am unused to aesthetics or dislike them. I’ve just never had a penchant for noticing such things. Then again, I don’t suppose I’ve met a being quite as... attractive as he. After all, I spent most of my teenage and adult years running away from my father; I didn’t have the time or the luxury for romance or seduction.

  I force myself to cease thinking of Lance in such an unproductive way, anyhow, because as much as I may be a danger to him, he is also a danger to me.

  I’d rather not get attached to an enemy so unprofessionally.

  Lance pauses in his gorging, which catches my attention. He looks up at me, utensils gripped tightly, eyes squinted so far shut I find myself doubting his ability to see me.

  “...What?” I question innocently, and he furrows his eyebrows.

  “... Why is this stuff _so good?_ Did you... put something in it? Is it poisoned?” His eyes widen, and he points his fork at me accusingly, the pace of his words quickening with panic, “You _did,_ didn’t you?! Am I _seriously_ gonna die? Or, is it more like some sort of weird Galra potion thing where I’ll suddenly become _really_ attached to you guys like so attached that I’ll _willingly_ join your forces and then _betray my own quiznacking team and then kill them and then-”_ I raise my hand, smile on my face, barely holding back a bark of laughter.

  I find his little tangent to be quite endearing, but I fear that if I tease him rather than appease him, he won’t take my words lightly, and, well, that would certainly put a wrench in things.

  “Peace, Lance, please,” I appeal - effectively stopping him from going any further - before lowering my hand, “There are no such substances in your food, unless you consider spices and sauces to be, as you put it, “weird Galra potion things”. As many times as I have reminded you before, I will remind you again; I wish no harm upon you. As soon as you feel you have eaten enough to replace what your body has expelled, I will explain myself, as duly as I stated I would,” I say as good-naturedly as I can and, although he still looks a little apprehensive and doubtful, he reluctantly goes back to eating his food, this time with a little less urgency.

 _I am glad he finds the flavor of what I made to be suitable for his tastes, though,_ I mentally muse. It’s been a little while since I really needed to cook for myself, much less anyone else, so it’s reassuring that my skills aren’t absolutely horrendous to those who haven’t had to be subjected to it for all these years.

  Besides, I’d rather have him thinking that it tastes so good that it’s suspicious than have him thinking that it tastes so awful he must _already_ be dying.

  Amused slightly, I continue in that train of thought for a few dobashes, until I’m startled out of it by Lance’s hand reaching and waving slightly in front of my face.

  My eyes widen and my body tenses, even as he moves his hand back a little to show a... slightly desperate face. Which is, quite frankly, not what I was expecting.

  I was expecting to have to reach for my sword.

  “... What... are you doing?” I ask cautiously, but not quite unkindly. Although I am glad it didn’t have to come to anything violent, my observations of him aren’t reliable enough for me to take a deep breath just yet. After all, why else would he reach out for me when I was obviously in a moment of vulnerability? Very guarded vulnerability, but the point still stands.

  The Blue Paladin merely shakes his head, gesturing to his plate.

  “I was... getting your attention. I tried to tell you that I was done eating, but you were too distracted to notice.”

  I... suppose his explanation make sense.

  I likely would have chosen the same course of action myself, if I were any less naturally skeptical than I am. His voice has turned soft, and he won’t meet my gaze, which is... a little odd. But then again, like I asserted earlier, I am quite aware of how sensitive to being ignored he is. I allow the tension in my shoulders to ease and give him a smile to show sincerity.

  “Ah, you have my apologies, Lance. I am usually far more preoccupied than I am right now, so I presume my lack of awareness is from how relaxed things are right now,” I say, and this is mostly true. My father has kept me running in circles for a few months now, taking care of business in the Empire that he would supposedly be taking care of, if not for his... downright detrimental obsession with Voltron. This moment with the Blue Paladin is indeed much more relaxed, especially since he has been mostly cooperative up until thus far. Lance nods, his expression relaxing a little, before hardening again.

  “So, you’re gonna explain yourself now, aren’t you?”

  I suppress a smile. He’s very blunt, but rather than it being off-putting... well.

  I straighten my slouched posture, assuming a more regal one, folding my hands on the table separating the space between us. Time to get down to business.

  “Of course. Which would you rather hear first: my reasons for bringing you here or what your position is?”

  Lance screws his eyebrows down, slight pout coloring his mouth.

  “I don’t care which, just tell me something, already, Lotor.” I continue smiling.

  So, he’s simple-minded? I can work with that.

  “Alright, then. Well, mainly, I’ve brought you here for you to serve as a representative for my generals and I when the time comes for us to pitch alliance negotiations to your team. Of course, that will involve-”

  “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! _Representative?”_ he asks, incredulous, and I quirk an eyebrow up.

  “Um... yes. Is there something wrong with that term?” Lance scoffs and crosses his arms.

  “Not much, not much... just that you _ought_ to be using another one! I’m totally a _bargaining chip,_ aren’t I? Don’t you dare lie to me. And, also,” he shifts, expressive glare intensifying on me, “why the hell do _you,_ of all people, want to form an alliance with Voltron? That just _sounds_ fishy, and there’s _no way_ I’m gonna be your little pawn so you can capture Voltron right from under our noses and plunge the entire Universe straight into chaos! _Quiznak,_ do you think I’m stupid or something?”

  ...

  If only he could _really_  be aware of the context of what he is saying.

  I can only hope, for his sake and for his team’s sake, that he doesn’t stray from that kind of logic. I allow the smile to fade from my face and give him a more genuine, serious expression, which, in its own way, is, indeed, genuine.

  “Believe me, Lance, I do not believe you to be lacking in any kind of intelligence. And, you are in no way a pawn, or a bargaining chip. You are not a hostage we will be using to trade for the Lions. You may not believe me, but my plans more run along the line of diplomacy. Lance,” I deepen my tone, hoping that it will only add to the sincerity in my voice, “I truly wish to form a genuine alliance with Voltron. With you.”

  Lance’s expression shifts from suspicious to unnerved and bewildered.

  I continue.

  “I want you, with time, of course, to come to trust my generals and I.” I shift my gaze away before speaking again.

  “I understand that the way I went about getting you here was... risky. But, failure would have been far too expensive a cost to pay. If your team would not have allowed negotiations, as I suspect they would have, there would be nothing I could do to provide them with the necessary inside information for the true defeat of my father and the liberation of so many oppressed sectors from his tyrannical grasp. And, before you choose to bring it up; even if I were to give your team this information outside of an alliance, they might choose to discard it since they do not trust me, and that would be... devastating to the cause, to say the least.” I finish, and as a final addition to my heartfelt, hopeful speech, I reach out and place my hand upon his. He glances down at the connection owlishly before returning his surprised gaze to mine.

  “You are valuable to my generals and I as a _representative,_ as someone to who will have witnessed first-hand that we do not intend to threaten the peace that Voltron stands for, and we - _I_ would not expect anything more from you... if you would just choose to trust me. Even a little.”

  Lance looks conflicted, and his hand flinches underneath mine when I make direct eye contact with him.

  _Just a little more..._

  “... Please, Lance,” I beg, hopefully sounding and looking as sincerely earnest as I desire to. “All I ask of you is that you just... stay with us for a while. As I’ve said before, no harm will come to you, and all of the necessary accommodations for your stay have been more than arranged for. If, in the end, you decide wholeheartedly that you cannot trust us... we will understand and attempt to make peace negotiations without your contribution. But,” it is here that I turn my head, letting my gaze fall on him pitifully from under my lashes, my grip on his hand tightening ever so slightly, “I very much fear... that we may not succeed without you. You see, Lance, _you_ are the key to our success. The special ingredient we so desperately crave. _We not only need you, but want you on our side..._ so please,” I plead.

  I feel the shift in his mood before I see it upon his face, his fingers tensing up beneath mine. His ocean eyes wide with conflicted emotion, his eyebrows pushing upwards and inwards, his lips parted ever so slightly in disbelief. In involuntary hope. I remove my hand from his, knowing I’ve succeeded... albeit not with a sense of victory of triumph.

  ...

  Yes.

  I very well know that I am exploiting his weaknesses. His insecurities.

  I very well know that, for the longest time, this is all that he’s been wishing for, praying to hear. He wants validity. He wants to feel important.

  Although it may only be temporary, and slightly underhanded, I can grant him that, despite the fact that, in the end, it will not be in the way that he wants. Because he is, indeed, crucial to the plan. That’s just it, however.

  The plan I speak of... belongs to Zarkon.

  Not I.

  I almost feel a sense of sadness, watching him fall for it.

  Watching him fall for the blatant lies.

  But, I really have no choice but to speak them, and no room to feel pity for him.

  The second I do that is the second I die at the hands of my father and Haggar, and I refuse to let that kind of inevitability to befall me.

  I suppress a shudder at even the thought.

  I watch as Lance’s eyes cloud over for a moment, the thunder returning to his gaze.

  “... What if I outright refuse? I mean, how can you even be sure that my team will listen to what I have to say? For all either of us knows, they could end up thinking that I’m being forced to cooperate or otherwise face some pretty dire consequences. Besides, you could definitely be lying to me.” I almost want to smile. This Blue Paladin is proving to be as unpredictable as an interstellar storm. He is, indeed, a lot more intelligent and valuable than he is given credit for, regardless of the fact that he has already fallen into the trap. I tilt my head in mock, innocent confusion.

  “I’m quite sure your friends know you well enough to at least be able to differentiate between a forced reaction and a genuine reaction from you, right?” Lance winces, and I know that it’s a low blow, but I continue, regardless, “and, as to whether or not I’m lying, well; you’ll just have to find that out for yourself. Besides, I hope you know that bringing you here was and still continues to be risky for _me,_ as well. I will not know if you decide to play along only to have your friends blast us during our moment of vulnerability. In fact, although you haven’t done it yet, there’s still a chance you could attack me at any given moment if you so wished,” at this, I take a pause and see Lance’s conflicted and defensive expression.

  “W-Well, yeah, but that’s only bec-”

  “Because what? Because you’ve been kidnapped? Because you feel threatened? Believe me, Paladin, it’s not that I blame you. I am simply stating the truth. My point is that, yes, you and I regard each other as enemies right now, but we must both learn to trust each other and work together for a common goal,” I pause to look away, settling my forearms on the table, “and, besides, I can’t allow you to outright refuse. That would be dangerous for both you and us at this point, as I can’t risk Zarkon somehow knowing about your being here. Everything about retrieving you was planned so that he wouldn’t be aware of our actions, and it is more than likely that I am under heavy observation right now. If you were to leave now,” and this, I do say with genuine sincerity, eyes firmly gazing into his, “you _would_ die.”

  Lance furrows his eyebrows and shifts his desperate gaze to his hands, now folded in his lap.

  “You... You can’t really know that. I-I’m strong, and with the Blue Lion with me-” I sit back and give a frustrated sigh.

  _I need this to work._

  “With all due respect, Paladin, I’m sure you and I both know that the Blue Lion alone doesn’t stand a chance against Zarkon and the full power of his fleet.”

  A moment of tense silence passes, and I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

  “Please. All I am asking is that you give me a chance. Not all Galra are as power-hungry as my father, and I want to prove that. To Voltron. To you.” With these final words, Lance concedes, shoulders dropping forward in defeat and relent, eyebrows screwed down in frustration.

  “... Ugh! Alright! I guess... I’ll stay. For now, anyways, since, according to you, I really have no choice,” he pauses for a moment, and then glares up at me with unexpected fire in his eyes a second later, placing both of his hands on the table intimidatingly as he rises over me, “but... the very _moment_ I feel threatened, or feel like Voltron will be threatened, I’m hightailing it the fuck outta here. Got it, _your princeliness?”_

  _Oh no._

  I’ve never heard that one before, but I’m cringing all the more for it.

  I fight to keep myself from the cusp of revealing my irritation at the derisive nickname and rise from my seat to my full height with as nice of a smile as I can muster, looking down on him.

  “Yes, that is all that I ask. Well, that, and maybe that you refrain from further use of that, um... _endearing..._ title. But, well, I digress. Thank you, Lance, for agreeing to hear me out. I’m sure you must still be tired from all of the fighting you’ve had to do as of late; I’ll walk you back to your room if you don’t mind,” but I’m already moving, taking long strides towards the door that leads from the mess to the corridor outside of it. Lance huffs.

  “I _do,_ though,” he mutters, arms crossed, even as he follows behind me. My internal irritation melts away a little, and I smile back at him, watch his blue eyes widen when he startles at the sudden movement.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t leave a lovely, important guest like yourself alone,” I see a tinge of red color his cheeks before I turn my gaze back to my front, and feel a moment of satisfaction before I continue, “Just think of me as your own personal bodyguard, ready to protect you from any danger that may happen to come our way.” After a moment of brief silence, Lance responds, voice low and soft from behind me.

  “Uhm... okay.”

  I decide to take a detour on the way to his room. A Paladin who knows his way around the ship is a dangerous Paladin, and I make a mental note to let the girls know to do the same, if ever they need to take him somewhere.

  “-otor... P-Prince Lotor!” My eyes widen, and I abruptly stop in my tracks at the foreign weight of a hand on my shoulder. _His hand,_ I remind myself.

  The touch is harmless.

  Harmless, indeed.

  Nonetheless, I still find myself needing to take a few deep breaths before I even so much as turn myself around to look at him.

  “Ah, I... I’m sorry, once again. My thoughts... are elsewhere. What is it?” This time, instead of desperation, I see... concern in his eyes.

  Impossible...

  But strangely nice to imagine, I suppose.

  If my observation is correct, he doesn’t affirm it. He looks down towards my feet and fidgets.

  “... It’s fine. Just, um,” he shifts slightly, hands rubbing at his arms. I notice, not for the first time, how tight the fabric he wears is on his skin. It hugs every corner of his body, leaving, well... _little_ to be imagined. I swallow a bit thickly and move my eyes back towards his face. “I was okay in the mess because it was warm in there, but, uh. Without my armor, I’m kinda cold. Can you, um... return it to me?” I compose myself enough to respond to him.

  “I... had my generals retain your Paladin armor for safety purposes. I can’t allow you to have any kind of communication with your team, and until we find out more about the gear’s capabilities, you won’t be able to have it back,” Lance looks upset at this, and I hold up a hand before he can protest, “however, there is no need for concern. I can have one of the girls bring you more comfortable clothing with less... _display.”_

It is here that I shift my gaze away from him, but not fast enough to go without seeing the blush that coats his face, the way he wraps his arms more tightly around himself, looking down self-consciously. I cough into my hand.

  “Is there anything else that you desire or need? Within reason?” I ask, looking back to him. I presume my earlier statement may have stunned him into silence, because he merely shakes his head at me without looking up. I can’t help the involuntary quirk of my mouth.

  I didn’t anticipate that the Blue Paladin of Voltron could be so endearingly shy.

  With a sigh, I turn myself around and continue walking.

  This might just become a problem. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  No more of that, Lotor.

  I know better than to pretend, even for just a second, that I have the luxury to be thinking such things about someone in his position. Not in this situation, anyways. Maybe at another time, or another place – but here? Most certainly not. I won’t even entertain the thought.

  I can’t, rather.

  Soon enough, we reach Lance’s room, where Narti awaits, leaning against the wall with Kova perched around her shoulders. I and stop to turn around and face Lance with a parting smile.

  “This, I’m afraid, is where I must leave you. I will have Acxa bring you the clothing you so desire in a few dobashes... are you absolutely certain there is nothing else you require?” Lance seems to have recovered from earlier; he’s back to narrowing his eyes at me and crossing his arms.

  “Obviously I could think of quite a few things, but you said, ‘within reason’ earlier, so I guess I’ll keep my mouth shut.” A grin pulls at my lips and I shake my head, bowing slightly for him.

  “How _kind_ of you to be so considerate, even while being such an esteemed guest that you could have us answering your every beck and call,” I tease, and he stiffens up.

  “I-I- you- that’s-!” He sputters, and I continue grinning as I rise from my bow. I gesture over to Narti.

  “This is Narti, and her feline companion is called Kova. If you need anything, I can assure you she will be happy to assist you,” I shift my gaze towards her in silent confirmation, and she gives me a slight nod, so I clear my throat and continue, “I... should mention that Narti is both blind and mute. Kova serves as her eyes, fortunately, and Narti knows sign language, but, obviously, I cannot really expect for you-” Lance cuts me off by surprise, signing a greeting to Kova, and a few ticks later, Narti signs back. He turns to look at me afterwards, the smile on his face _almost_ edging on smug.

  “I do know sign language, actually. My older brother, Matías, got into an accident when he was young and became deaf, so my whole family made it a huge thing to learn it, so he wouldn’t be lonely or feel left out of anything.” I smile, genuinely. I can’t imagine having such a considerate family, but Lance seems so happy talking about them that I imagine it must be nice.

  “I find it to be incredibly kind of you to do that for your brother. It will definitely help you in communicating with Narti, should you need or want to. It’s a good skill to have, and it’s admirable that you learned it.”

  He says nothing in response to my compliments, but... for the very first time since he’s arrived, Lance gives me a smile.

  My breath hitches, and I suppress my surprise.

  His smile...

  Is a small one, but...

  It is a smile, nonetheless.

  And, well, I’d certainly be lying if I didn’t say that I can’t help but think that it... suits him. The pull of his... surely soft lips over his dark, honeyed skin is ever so nice to look at, and the slight narrowing of his oceanic eyes only serves to soften his features further.

  He... is rather unexpectedly and exquisitely beautiful, in this moment, and I find myself lost in his beauty. 

  It is... a momentary weakness.

  One that I swear to myself that I will not allow to overwhelm me again.

  I abruptly shake myself out of my stupor and straighten my posture, clenching my jaw and my fists.

  “Well, I must go now, but I shall certainly be seeing you, Paladin. Again, please feel free to let one of my generals know if you require anything,” I say with a slight bow in his direction and a tense smile, trying to keep my voice pleasant despite the fact that I know that it’s full of strain.

  I cannot even bring myself to look at him directly before I turn on my heels and walk away, back rigid. I give a slight nod to Narti as I exit the corridor and know that she will see to it that Lance stays in his room for the time being.

  That was... close.

  _Too close._

  I really, _really_ cannot afford to be having any kind of feelings towards this human, and I assert this mentally, not only for my sake, but for his.

  If I were to ever even _indicate_ through any of my words or actions that I have an attachment to the Blue Paladin and father found out about it, it would surely mean the end of both of our lives, and I doubt that they would be quick.

  Likely... likely he would be tortured.

  And I...

  I shiver.

  I cannot allow that kind of fate to bechance him.

  Not with what I know of the pain of it...

  No.

  I must keep myself and my feelings in control and not allow anyone to know what I am thinking, not even my generals. Well, most of them.

  I know for a fact that I can trust Acxa with anything I so desire; she has witnessed me even in moments of most terrible weakness, and these moments have not so much as passed her lips through a whisper in all of these many, many deca-phoebs.

  Still, I feel it right to assume she’d be none too happy to hear that I have a certain... fondness towards our prisoner.

  Regardless of her allegiance, however; I will not tell her of this fondness.

  It will stop right here and right now _,_ at just that. I take a deep breath and let my shoulders relax a little.

  Everything will be fine.

  An alert brings my attention to a transmission notification coming from my gauntlet, and I raise my arm and press my index finger to the metal of my armor. Not even a tick passes before Axca’s face appears holographically before mine; I see that she is at the bridge, Ezor and Zethrid chatting in the background.

  “Prince Lotor, your father is attempting to contact you and demands your presence as soon as possible.” She states, face as serious as ever. I sigh.

  “Thank you, Axca, I’ll be there in a moment.”

  “Yes, sir,” she responds, and the transmission ends. I run my fingers through my hair until they tangle with the knots and close my eyes for a moment.

  Sometimes - only sometimes... I imagine what it would be like if I had been born in a different reality.

  One where my father wasn’t abhorrent, and my mother was still around.

  I like to imagine that her absence is part of the reason he has strayed so far from his original mentality of ruling his people with firm kindness. Or, maybe he was always like this. I have not the slightest clue, in truth, since I recall nothing but the same current cruelty, even from my youngest memories.

  It makes me wish, sometimes, that I could lead a normal life. Find a lifelong companion like so many other Galra used to do. Settle down on some little corner of this ever so large Universe. Live in peace. Tranquility.

  ... But, of course, wishing for things gets a person nowhere.

  These are the cards I’ve been dealt, and they have taught me that if you want something, you must either take it, or go without it.

  _There is rarely an in-between._

  And that is why I cannot afford to risk it. This stupid, short life, so threatened by everyone who surrounds it. This stupid hope, of one day being able to live away from the prejudices and pressures of being partly Galra.

  I hate it.

  Of course, I hate it.

  But, what choice do I have, now? That stupid witch will just track me down again and... my body shudders compulsively, in memory. I screw my eyes shut, take a deep breath, and walk faster, arms wrapped tightly around myself. 

  _I don’t want to even imagine what she’ll do next time._

  And I don’t need to.

  I’ll do my job, get thrown away by father and his witch, like always, and enjoy my life as a fugitive once again.

  This...

  This is who I am.

  _This is who I have to be._

  I can’t afford to do any more or any less than what is expected of me, to be any more or less of who I am expected to be.

  I... can’t be like Lance, free from political views, a renegade so enthralling he even makes _me_ wish my words from earlier were true.

  No matter how much I disagree and fight, no matter how far I try to run away from my heritage, I can never be free of it. I’m always sucked right back in until I play my role in Zarkon’s grand scheme.

  This time is no different than the rest, and I must constantly remind myself of that, for fear of forgetting.

  I cannot run away from this part of myself. I have tried, time and time again, and it doesn’t work. It never works. I can never, ever be free of the abuse.

  Something as frivolous as the concept of love has no place in my cold, empty life.

  When I reach the door to the bridge, I place my hand upon the security scanner, and the doors slide open but a moment later. The noise alerts Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid of my arrival, and they turn to face me the tick I enter. Each of them regards me with concern - which is slightly irritating, although I suppose I cannot blame them.

  “How did it go?” Ezor is the first to ask, and Zethrid quickly joins in, dark grin alighting her face as she cracks her knuckles.

  “Did that little fucker try to pull any funny moves on you? I’ll be _more_ than happy to crush him, at your command, sir.” The corners of my lips quirk up, and I close my eyes, raising a hand.

  “No worries, his cooperation has been secured, and no physically violent moves were made, so you may relax, Zethrid. Narti is watching over the room he occupies as we speak. Speaking of which, Acxa,” it is here that I turn to face her, “Lance requires proper clothing, so I’d appreciate it if you could provide him with it.”

  She bows her head slightly in response, “At once, Prince Lotor,” and exits the room.

  “The both of you are dismissed, for now. Tell Narti – and Acxa, if you happen to run into her – that if the Paladin must go anywhere, he must be taken there indirectly. I do not want him familiarizing himself with the infrastructure of this ship. I’ll call you here and brief you further once I know more details about how we are to go about dealing with him,” I command stringently, and both Ezor and Zethrid exchange subtle looks of uneasiness.

  “Yes, sir,” they respond in tandem despite whatever feelings they might be having, and I feel my posture relax as they exit.

  Without giving me so much as a moment to take a shallow breath, Zarkon’s holographic image appears before me on the glass-screen expanse at the front of the ship.

  I suppress a shudder.

  His aura is immensely and intensely strong, even if he is many quadrants away from where I am. Zarkon’s presence has always been suffocating to me, and I very much loathe the face of the man who is supposed to be my father, that I look nothing like.

  I try my best to swallow my discomfort and put on a passive expression.

  “You have done your duty.”

  In his slow, rough, gravelly voice, the phrase sounds much more of a statement than an inquiry. I harden the look on my face and place my right fist over my chest, lowering my head slightly to show submission.

  “Yes, my emperor.”

  “Good... It would do you good to remember that you _shall_ complete this mission I have assigned you to the best of your ability, or else I will see to it that Haggar _never releases you from her grasp again,”_ his eyes narrow further, and I can see a sliver of the white of his teeth as he speaks, “and you dare not disappoint me, being the disgrace to this empire that you are, filthy half-breed.”

  I shudder, the blood running through my veins feeling ice cold.

  Memories of pain invented by witchcraft come rushing back to me, and my body nearly convulses.

  “I... I will not let you down, father. Vrepit sa.”

  “... See to it that you fulfill your word to me.”

  Just like that, he vanishes from sight, and my legs give out from underneath me.

  I fall to my seat and clutch at my chest through my armor, trying as hard as I can to breathe regularly.

  The panic has already set in, however, and I truly cannot prevent my body from quivering. It feels like cement is filling my lungs with each breath I take, and my stomach churns sharply.

  Never again...

  Never again will I go back to that awful feeling, the scraping inside of my mind, the feeling of my veins tearing away and uprooting themselves from inside my body, even though I had not so much as been touched by her instruments of torture.

  I will never again not be able to recognize my own scream – not be able to even hear it.

  It took me several months to regain my hearing, and I will _never_ lose it again.

  No.

  _No, no, no..._

I can’t help the hot, angry tears that stream down my face, because even though I say that I’ll never allow it again, even at this very moment, it’s like I _can still feel it, I can always still feel it and it never, never goes away-_

  For the second time today, the feeling of a hand on my shoulder startles me, and my hand wildly flies to grasp the hilt of my sword, fearing the worst.

  My wild eyes land on the perpetrator the moment my blade almost reaches their neck...

  “Easy, there, sir,” and it’s just Acxa, with nothing but loyalty and concern for my well-being.

  I feel the panic leave just as soon as it appeared and lower my weapon, mumbling an apology. It doesn’t stop the thundering of my heart from inside my ribcage, but it forces a little composure into my lungs, and I let my head fall into my hands, pounding and throbbing in time with my heart.

  We stay like this for a moment or two, nothing but the sound of my heavy breathing filling the bridge as I stifle my tears. And then, she speaks.

  “Are... Are you sure that you must do this? One word from you, Lotor, and we could ditch the Paladin and find repose in a non-threatening quadrant, away from your – excuse my foreign language – asshole of a father.”

   I choke out a laugh but shake my head.

  “It is not that simple. She – that _stupid witch_ – will be able to find me no matter where I go.” Acxa frowns, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at her.

  “And when she finds you, we can _continue to run,_ as we always ha-” Sudden irritation fills me, and I jerk away from her grasp, standing and facing her with an angry glare.

  “I’m _tired_ of running, Acxa! I’m _sick and tired_ of fleeing from him, of _not being strong enough_ to face him head on to end this torture once and for all! What will it matter if I run, only for him to find me yet again?” I shake my head and stretch my hands out to grasp the edges of the control panel next to my seat, bending over it, letting my hair fall over my face.

“You don’t understand. I can’t _bear_ it,” I breath out, hating the way my voice cracks, “I can’t _do it_ anymore – not until I’m able to find out how I’m being tracked and eliminate the source, at least.”

  The room is silent for a moment, tense on my side, thoughtful on hers.

  “... Listen, Lotor... I understand your predicament. I was... I was right there, when she...” Acxa trails off, and I look up to see her closing her eyes and shaking her head, eyebrows furrowed at the memory. I begin pacing anxiously. “So, you see, I _do_ understand. But, Lotor, if you... if you _help_ him now... there will be no chance of ever defeating him later. As... partial as I am to the idea of it, I just very much dislike seeing you in pain, and the day Voltron is defeated is the day Zarkon gains ultimate power over not only you, but everyone in this Universe.”

  Silence again.

  Unbearable silence.

  “... What, exactly, are you saying? That I _betray_ him?” I gape at her, bewildered, before shaking my head furiously, “I told you, I’m not free to-” Axca raises her hands, stopping me, face determinedly serious.

  “No, Lotor. I am saying that, if we play our cards right, there may be a chance to... help defeat him without giving away that we’re doing it.”

  I abruptly stop in my movements and face her, eyes wide.

  “... What?” She avoids my gaze, and my question.

  “I’ve been thinking about... the plan he has. Haggar... when she... from the information she got from you, she had her druids engineer that Galra-altered Altean teludav. It... is supposed to render the Lions useless, am I correct?” I try hard to not think of the memory attached to her words and nod, slowly, hesitantly.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “... Well, part of the plan involves our party stalling with fake negotiations using the Blue Paladin. We lure the Lions out for him.” Frustrated, I sigh, practically glaring at her.

  “Please, Acxa, _please_ just tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Against my urging, she is excruciatingly silent, gaze averted.

  “... It is... risky. But we could... warn Voltron instead of distracting them. Or, we could somehow ‘accidentally’ let the Blue Paladin in on our plan. Let him figure out some way to warn his teammates. 

  The room falls silent, and I find it hard to think, hard to process anything.

  “... That - that wouldn’t work, Zarkon and Haggar would still very likely know that I instigated the failure of the plan, since I am responsible for it. And... And, again, with Haggar somehow tracking me-”

  “What if we could find a way to eliminate that threat? So you wouldn’t have to run anymore, so you could be free. Would you be willing to risk it, sir?” She looks at me, and in her eyes, I see that the question isn’t a question.

  It is a challenge.

  What she is really asking, is how far I would be willing to go in order to live the life that I desire, that I wish for.

  _How far I would be willing to go to free myself of who I am._

  “I...” I bite my lip and inhale, grasping my aching head in my hands, “I don’t know. I... need time to consider what you have suggested. It has been quite a long day, and I... I cannot think properly while I am so wound-up.”

  “I see,” she sighs out, looking off to the side, voice soft and understanding, “Then do that. Take some time to consider it, and then let me know. Ezor, Zethrid, Narti, and I are all behind you every step of the way. You know we’d each sacrifice our very lives to support you.” The look she’s giving me is firm and stern, and I sheepishly avoid it.

  “Yes,” I admit guiltily, and she nods firmly before softening her features.

  “Alright. Talks of possible rebellion aside, I am of the firm belief that you need to take time off to do more than just consider my words,” I look back up at her, puzzled, and she gives me a rare smile, “You’ve been extremely tense lately, your highness. Let your generals take care of the business of the Empire for a while, and you can focus on resting and watching over our new... guest.” I furrow my eyebrows, horrified and shake my head, tensing up.

  “No, no, I couldn’t possibly inconvenience-”

  “Yes, you _could_ possibly, and you _will._ I demand it of you.” I narrow my eyes at her.

  “You are in no position to demand _anything_ of me-”

  “You care nothing for status, so do not pretend, even for a second, that you do. You shall rest and trust us to take care of official matters in your stead.” I sigh in frustrated defeat and plop down like a child into my seat, arms folded over my chest, pouting slightly.

  “You’re always like this when we’re alone. Who are you, my mother?” I mutter begrudgingly. Acxa rolls her eyes at me, and I pretend to scoff indignantly, “ _Such_ disrespect, I am eternally offended.” With another half-smile, she bows.

  “I suppose that means I’m dismissed, so I’ll take my leave and let you brood on your own time.” I stare after her in repulsed shock as she leaves.

  _“I do not brood!”_ I yell after her and hear laughter in return.

  “Damn generals...” I mutter this, but the truth is, I feel so much better than I did earlier. There’s a reason I’ve trusted them with my life up until thus far.

  ... 

  Which brings me to my predicament. Despite whatever good intentions Acxa may have, I... can’t be left alone with the Paladin to look over him. It’s not that I don’t trust my generals to do as good of a job as I would. It’s not that I don’t want to see Lance.

  In fact, that is just it.

  I don’t mind the prospect of seeing him.

  I actually _desire_ to see him, and _that_ is what terrifies me.

  It terrifies that he might be so, so much more than I think he is, because, God, I can already see _extraordinary_ potential in him.

  It terrifies me that he might have what it takes to see through me and all of my pretenses and walls.

  It terrifies me that he might change my whole Universe and all of my preconceptions about it at the drop of a GAC, that he might flip my everything upside down and inside out without so much as lifting a finger.

  It terrifies me that he might change my mind about not wanting to take the risk and undermine my father’s plans for Voltron. For him. 

_It terrifies me that I might be tempted, against all odds, to allow myself to develop feelings for him._

  Because that is something I’ve sworn to myself that I cannot allow...

  And I do not trust myself at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any questions or just want to make my day by leaving a comment, feel free to post either below and I'll do my best to answer! Feedback is very encouraging and I'd love to know which parts stick out to you as your favorite - thank you to those who have already left comments, you're the best!


	5. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A notice about this story - no, not a discontinuation notice!

Let me just say... wow, it has been quite a while, hasn't it? I swore to myself I'd be on my game with this fanfic but, lol, look at these cards, they're all turned against me! Sorry about that! I'm here to give several reasons, and to say that I'm not abandoning this project - I've mentioned this before but I'm very passionate about it for several different reasons: firstly, it gives me an avenue to express how I feel about abusive friendships and relationships - and, for that matter, how I feel healthy relationships should pan out (obviously I haven't really gotten to that point yet, what a mess I've made for myself, eh?). Secondly, my home environment is and has been such so as that I cannot freely express my love for love and relationships of all kinds. If I were to do so, it would be looked at as strange and disgusting by my family, and, sadly, I have no plans to "come out" as I feel that no one has a say in my personal opinions and relationships - I don't have to tell or can tell anyone I want about my orientation and preferences, and, sadly, friends who understand me and can accept me as I am are more important to me than parents who would look at me differently if I expressed my simple views. Thirdly, I love LanceLot a lot! I haven't seen much good content of it - there's plenty of fanart, but most of the fanfiction ends up with Lotor being an ass and some other pairing (cough cough klance cough) reigning, as many voltron stans say, "canon king".

Regardless, there have been several reasons as to why I took an unannounced pause with this project, and I intend to explain them with the purpose of doing things a bit differently going forward. 

1) Personal Issues: recently, I turned 18 and moved out of a certain household that I felt was too suffocating for me to be able to continue residing in. I moved in with another parent, and it has been quite a change for me and has taken me a while to get adjusted. I have a car and a job, now, and am taking online classes to complete my high school education so that I can graduate along my previous peers this year. Not to mention my new family is much more active, and, well, it's a bit difficult for me to keep up with, in all honesty. It's been difficult for me to write anything at all, lately, unfortunately.

2) The Fandom: After the season where ***** **spoiler** ***** Lotor died ***** **end spoiler** ***** I was very... disappointed. I haven't watched anything Voltron related since then (for good reason, given the finale), and the way the fandom operates has always irritated me; people attacking each other for ships claiming that they are of an abusive or pedophilia-related nature, blackmailing the cast and creators, insulting characters, so on and so forth. I will not go into detail, but I was tired of it. I moved on to other fandoms, like Sally Face and Detroit Become Human (and, of course, the usual comics that I always read), where the discourse was much less draining. 

3) General Writer's Block: my inability to create a story with engaging plotholes that can be revisited later has kind of set me into a writer's drought. I feel that I reveal too much of my plotline too soon, when I'd much rather keep my audience wondering what the hell is going on the whole time they're reading up until I can find a point to stage an epiphany. Or, in other words, I feel that my writing fucking sucks lol. 

I say all of this, ultimately, to reveal that I will be moving forward with this story, but I will be revising it - taking certain details out so I can work them in later on to create a more effective plotline. Not only that, but I want to do updates every two weeks, if possible.

One issue (of many) with this is that I will be busy many days (I'm also an artist, and I do commissions and requests, occasionally, and so I'm busy right now with those as well - you can find me and dm me on instagram @rieunn if you want! I really want friends, just mention that you came from my ao3 account!), so I'll try to plan accordingly for each update. If you've bookmarked this story and you're reading this now, let me just say that I'm very very thankful for your continued support! It makes me happy to think there are people who enjoy my mediocre words lol. Anywho, this is all I wanted to say. See you all soon! :)


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